The Accessory
by Robot from the future
Summary: Accessory - noun: a supplementary component that improves capability; noun: clothing that is worn or carried, but not part of your main clothing; noun: someone who helps another person commit a crime. A Mint Royale Fic. Will be M for slash and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, I know there's still a chapter to go on my other fic but this is what I've been working on recently and I was too excited to hold off from posting it. A Mint Royale Fic. **

**Disclaimer - I do not own the Mighty Boosh or the Mint Royale music video to the Blue Song**

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Definitions (_**accessory**_)

_**noun**_**:** a supplementary component that improves capability  
_**noun**_**:** clothing that is worn or carried, but not part of your main clothing  
_**noun**_**:** someone who helps another person commit a crime  
_**adjective**_**:** relating to something that is added but is not essential

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Howard stood rigidly, feeling the heat of the body pressed against the length of his front, his arm gripped tightly around the boy's neck. The boy's long black hair tickled his nose and the scent of it – shampoo and hairspray – distracted him for a moment. The last thing he needed at the moment was another distraction. The alarm blaring out its repetitive, persistent siren was one, Jim lying on the floor, great gouts of blood pouring from his stomach was another. The security guard had got him – he was a real old school type, looked about two weeks from retirement, but he had challenged them anyway. Howard had almost pitied him when he saw how his hand shook on the gun. He doubted that he had ever had to use it before. He hadn't wanted to shoot Jim; he had tried to talk them out of violence but Jim had shot him in the leg and he had fired a round off in retaliation. Howard saw the look of horror spread over his face, mirroring the blood that blossomed over Jim's shirt as he clasped his guts and crumpled to the floor. It hadn't stayed there for long – the security guard's face that is. Jackie had seen to that, almost blowing his head clean off with a sawn off shot gun at point blank range. Howard didn't want to look to his right, at the security guard's body. Instead he edged the boy forward, nudging him with a knee in the back of the leg,

"Move," he growled before calling back over his shoulder to Jackie who was currently crouching at the door of a vault, desperately trying to open it,

"Come on, we've got to get out of here. The police will be here any minute,"

"Just a sec. We've got to get the diamonds. There's probably only about two mil in that bag," Jackie nodded his head to the bag in Howard's free hand, the hand that wasn't pressing a gun to the boy's temple.

"I said come on! This has all gone to shit and we have to get out of here now. You can have Jim's share,"

"Fuck you - " there was an explosion and Jackie fell backwards with a cry. The safe's defences had obviously been triggered. Without looking back, Howard marched the boy out the door.

The police cars were just starting to turn up, their tyres squealing and sirens blazing as they pulled up outside the bank. As men in bulletproof vests started to pour out of the vehicles, their weapons trained on him, Howard retreated to the car that was waiting on the road. If the situation hadn't been quite so perilous he would've laughed at the sight of the small square of paper tucked under the wiper – a parking ticket. He threw open the passenger door and shoved the boy in the direction of the seat. He caught his boot on the lip of the door and stumbled slightly, his head momentarily breaking contact with the gun. Howard grabbed his arm roughly and thrust the barrel back into his temple. Praying that his voice wouldn't waver, he called out to the waiting policemen,

"You listen, if anyone follows me I'll shoot this guy. I'm just going to drive away from here and you're all going to let me," glancing down he noticed the red spot of a sniper rifle trained over his heart and swallowed deeply, "and if anyone tries any funny business, this bag is full of explosives, enough to take out about a 500 metre range. The trigger's in my hand as well so if I let go of it for any reason, like BEING SHOT in the fucking chest, we're all dead. So I suggest you don't,"

A man in a suit stepped forwards from the crowd of policemen and shouted back to him,

"Put down your weapon,"

Howard zoned him out and glanced down to the boy in the passenger seat who was just staring ahead blankly out the windscreen. Howard could see he had a problem. He couldn't walk round to the driver's side without taking the gun away from his head and he didn't fancy testing whether the police believed his claim about the explosives. He cursed Jim again for wanting to come inside instead of waiting in the car as they'd agreed.

"Climb over to the driver's side," he ordered. The boy looked up at him questioningly, before shifting his body awkwardly over the car and into the driver's seat without a word. Howard kept the gun as close to his head as he could as his eyes flicked between the boy and the cops. Holding the bag up in the air, he slid into the passenger seat and addressed the boy again,

"Now start the car, the keys are in the ignition,"

Again the boy looked at him with wide curious eyes but did as he was told. Howard was glad to see that the police weren't getting into their cars. Yet.

"Drive,"

"Where?" the boy asked. Howard was surprised to hear him speak, realising it was the first sound he had made ever since he had grabbed him and forced him to open the safe with the cash in. Howard didn't have an extensive knowledge of hostage taking but in his experience he would've at least expected a few sobs, a plea for his life. He didn't even sound that scared.

"Turn the car around then go straight ahead, and make it snappy,"

Obligingly, the boy turned over the engine and pulled away in a manouver that Howard couldn't fault. For a split second he imagined that this was some kind of fucked up driving test and he was the instructor. He fought the urge to giggle. He chanced a look behind them and let out a shaky breath of relief to see that no one was following them. Was it possible that he might get out of this?

After a few minutes, Howard directed the boy,

"Turn left here,"

They turned down a quiet side street and under a railway viaduct. Howard could hear the hum of the police helicopter in the distance. He didn't have long. He instructed him to pull up onto the kerb behind a white transit van. Howard jumped out of the car and ran to the van, snatching the key from under the wheel arch. He threw the bag of cash and the gun into the back and stuck the key into the ignition but as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator he was startled by a noise next to him. The boy from the car, the hostage, had opened the passenger side door and climbed in, the same blank, calm expression on his face. Howard's jaw dropped open. He was about to kick him right back out the door when he heard a police siren somewhere not too far away and decided it was best to just drive. After all, the boy might come in useful later.

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**Let me know what you think**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews - glad you like it so far. **

**I do not own Mighty Boosh etc.**

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They had been travelling for about two hours. Vince (Noir - rock and roll star, as he told Howard after about ten minutes of travelling in silence. Howard had neglected to tell Vince his name) had been talking for most of the journey. Howard couldn't work him out. He didn't seem scared of him, or angry, or even to remember that Howard had used him a human shield, held a gun to his head. He seemed more like a kid being taken to Alton Towers or something. At first he found it irritating to the point of wondering if he could put a bullet in his brain without having to pull over onto the hard shoulder. However, after a while it became like background noise and then later still, enjoyable to listen to. It wasn't that he had said anything meaningful or profound, it was just that he was so full of youthful exuberance, a real sunshine kid, Howard thought with a smile as he listened to Vince extol the virtues of Mick Jagger. If anything, he was the nervous one, his hands drumming on the wheel as he tried not to think of how close things had been earlier to all coming to an end for him. How it went so badly wrong. Jim. Jackie. The kid helped him with that – helped him not to think. Nevertheless he still couldn't fathom what on earth he was doing here with him. Everything had slipped out of his normally tightly reigned control.

"Can I not open my eyes now?" Vince begged. Howard glanced over at him, noticing how his eyelids looked almost translucent, like a baby bird's. Once they had pulled out of central London, Howard had told him to close his eyes so he wouldn't see where they were going. The truth of the matter was that every time he saw out the corner of his eye that Vince was looking at him, he nearly ploughed the van into oncoming traffic.

"I don't want you to see where we're going,"

"Why not?" Vince screwed up his face and peeked at him through one eye. Howard batted his hand over the younger man's face, laughing, as though they were two mates mucking about. He couldn't help it, this boy's good humour was infectious.

"Because you'll tell the police,"

His hand lingered on Vince's cheek for half a heartbeat too long, until he noticed a small smile playing at the corner of his lips,

"What?"

"My plan's working,"

"What plan?"

Howard couldn't figure out for the life of him what the boy was talking about and felt more than a little unsettled that he may have been manipulated in some way. He couldn't be an undercover cop, surely. His hand twitched towards the back where the gun lay, but he didn't make a move for it. Vince left his eyes shut but he was almost laughing,

"Oh come on! I've seen you switch cars, I've caught a good look at your face. I'm way too much of a liability. You'd have to be an idiot to let me go alive, and I saw from your friends back in the bank that your lot aren't bothered about a little bit of killing,"

"You wouldn't be able to identify me Sir, I'm like a shadow, like a ninja. I blend into the background, like human wallpaper,"

"Sorry mate, your face may be as ambient as lift music but I've got a photographic memory. I could pick you out of a crowd of thousands,"

"I doubt it," Howard heard the edge of smugness creeping into his voice. His blank generic face was one of the reasons he did so well in this game. Hell, a couple of years ago he went back to a bank that he turned over a few weeks previous, got served by the pretty little clerk that had bled mascara tears all down her face as she had begged him for her life, and she didn't even bat an eyelid at him. That had been a stupid risk, he knew, but he had got away with it. This little shit hadn't caught that much of a look at him.

"2946578" Vince replied triumphantly.

"What's that?"

"The code to open the safe. See I told you I had a good memory. I can memorise anything. Also, I only have to listen to a music track once and I can tell you exactly how long it is, to the second. You can test me if you like. And I never forget a face,"

"What are you, some kind of child genius or something?" Howard muttered, concentrating on the road as he flicked the indicator.

"Shit off, I'm twenty two! And besides, I'm not a genius - I can barely even read. I'm just good at remembering things is all,"

"Well if you know what's good for you, you had better not remember my face. Anyway, what was your plan?"

"To make myself so loveable that you wouldn't kill me,"

At this Howard laughed again. He couldn't even remember the last time he laughed like that. For a moment he wondered if he was going mad, if the insanity of the situation and the horror that had gone on before was catching up with him. He had his friend's blood all over his shirt, for fucks sake and half the country's police out looking for him and here he was laughing at the jokes of an inane kid that he had never even met before.

"What are you talking about, you got into this van out of your own free will, you little psycho. I was going to leave you in the other car. Just out of interest, what were you playing at there?"

"I dunno. I just wanted to see where you were going,"

"Where I was going! I've just robbed a bank, I was hardly going to be going to a fucking holiday camp!"

"No what I mean is….I'm sick of my life. All my friends are the same, only interested in drinking and drugs and fucking and bitching,"

"Isn't everyone?"

Vince was starting to get flustered, and swiped his thick fringe out of his eyes in a frustrated motion. At some point he had opened his eyes again, Howard noticed.

"No! Yes. I mean. You seemed different. From everyone I've ever met before. I wanted to see where you were going. I wanted to go along with you,"

Howard grimaced, pulling the car onto the grass verge. This kid was clearly wired up wrong. He shifted round in the seat to look at him, searching his face for some visible sign of madness. All he saw was the boy staring earnestly back at him, eyes wide and all serious. The problem was, Howard found fairly quickly that he was unable to look away. It was like the boys eyes were like the centre of the fucking universe of something. Spots of colour appeared high on the boys cheekbones, contrasting with the cream slopes of his face. _Cream?_ Howard thought contemptuously; where the fuck did that come from? Vince's eyes flickered shut and his lips pouted slightly. For a moment Howard couldn't work out why he was doing that but then he realised. He had been inching towards Vince without even realising, for reasons he couldn't even fathom. The little prick thought he was going to kiss him – had wanted him to kiss him! Drawing his head back like he had been stung, he tried to wring a little satisfaction out of the hurt look in Vince's eyes when he finally opened them but he couldn't, none at all.

"Now this is where you get off I'm afraid," he said in as jovial a tone as he could, wincing as Vince's eyebrow quirked almost imperceptibly at the unintentional double entendre. "Go on, time to go. If you don't get out the car I might have to kill you, no matter how loveable you try and make yourself,"

He had been aiming for menacing but Vince's smile suggested otherwise, all gooey and sweet. He felt stupid and he hated it. He just wanted the kid gone. Trying as hard as possible not to flinch as the back of his hand brushed Vince's bare forearm, he leaned across and opened the passenger side door.

Vince looked at him with pleading eyes and Howard was pleased to find that he felt nothing other than indifference. Well almost nothing.

"It's raining," he whined, lifting a hand unconsciously to ruffle the back of his hair.

"So?"

"So? So look at me. I'll freeze out there," Howard glanced down at his thin t-shirt, the pale skin of his neck and wished he hadn't. The boy had a black leather jacket on but it didn't seem enough. He clenched his hands over the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"We're hardly in the Arctic – we're only barely outside of the M25, there's a village a couple of minutes up the road, you can walk up there,"

"But how am I going to get home?"

"Not my problem, you wanted to see where I was going and now you have,"

He realised he sounded cruel but to be honest, he couldn't even understand why he had even indulged him for as long as this. Jim and Jackie would have both shot him and left him in the car in the viaduct back in London. Maybe he was going soft in his old age, he had heard of it happening to others, some people just seemed to lose their edge and start to make dangerous mistakes. Perhaps it was time to get out of the game before things got too out of hand.

"Go on, fuck off, get out of the car,"

Vince's eyes started to well up with tears and he gripped hold of the door handle, as though he was afraid that Howard was going to shove him out.

"I could help you, you can trust me you know. I could…oh I don't know, be your stylist or something? I mean, your outfit's severely lacking something isn't it. Plain black trousers, white shirt and tie, black trench coat and trainers? You look like the Matrix for chavs. You should mix it up a bit – maybe a stripey jumper and an eye mask – you know, old school,"

Howard didn't say anything at all. He knew if he opened his mouth he would end up saying something he would regret. The moment stretched out between them into infinity.

"But how am I supposed to get home?"

Howard gritted his teeth and stretched his arm out behind him to the back seat. Vince shrank back, fear in his eyes as they zoned in on the gun, making Howard feel triumphant and repulsed by himself at the same time. Leaning further behind him, he unzipped the holdall and grabbed a handful of money and thrust it into Vince's chest,

"Here, call yourself a taxi,"

Vince just looked down, beaten, as the money fell down into his lap, some spilling onto the seat and into the foot well. There must been at least a couple of grand but he just picked a couple of fifties between his thumb and forefinger and slid out of the car. He was half in and half out of the van, one foot on the ground and one still inside when he paused and looked up at Howard again, his chin stuck out defiantly,

"I won't tell the police anything you know,"

The corner of Howard's mouth pulled up into a smile as he realised he had forgotten about that as a possibility. At some point they had just become two men – strangers – the possibility of something more hanging unspoken between them. Vince spoke again, desperation making his voice catch.

"I can't call a cab, I haven't got a phone,"

"What? You must be the only person in the whole of England without one," Howard knew he was in trouble when all he wanted to do was pull Vince back into the van and find out why he didn't have a phone, find out more about him. Instead he just reached into the pocket of his long black trench coat and pulled out the latest Nokia. It wasn't even out in the UK yet – he had had to have it imported from Japan. He thrust his hand hard at Vince, throwing the phone at him. The momentum of it caused it him to step down off the running plate reflexively. Before he even had a chance to steady himself, Howard was gone in a screech of tyres.


	3. Chapter 3

Howard shut his front door behind him and slid the deadbolt across, exhaling deeply as he leant his forehead against the cool wood of the door. To say that it had been a long day was somewhat of an understatement. After he had dropped the kid off he had driven to the next village where he had his car parked up in a lock up that he kept hold of. There he had left the van and driven back to London, via a shop to pick up the evening paper. The headlines screamed at him – 'Bank Robber escapes with £2,000,000 cash from Colbotts bank – fears grow for missing girl'. That had made him snort with laughter. They had printed a grainy photo of him, his face partially obscured by Vince's, pulled in tight in front of him – it wasn't enough to identify him - the newsagent had barely looked at Howard as he's handed over the money. Howard wondered what would've happened if he'd let his black trench coat slip open and reveal the remains of the security guard's head all over his shirt. Even the photo evoked the memory of how the boy's hair had smelled, and how it had tickled his nose. There was a hundred and one things he should be doing, Howard knew, so why was he obsessing over a boy he barely knew and was unlikely to see again. He had to ring his boss, for one thing. It amazed him that he hadn't heard from him already – he must've seen the news, seen how it had gone so badly wrong. According to the paper, Jim was dead and Jackie was in a coma. It was up to him to provide some answers, whatever they may be. Howard couldn't even comprehend how things had gone so badly wrong. It was a Sunday – there wasn't even supposed to be anyone in the bank that day, instead there was at least six staff members having some kind of training event or something, as well as security. One of them had even brought their kid in; she had been playing on the floor, her hair shining golden in the sunlight. Howard wasn't sure whether they had been more shocked to see him or him to see them. And Vince, Vince had been there as well, leaning on the counter as though he owned the whole place. Maybe they had opened the bank for him specially – Howard had heard of that happening occasionally for rock stars or celebrities. Lets be honest, if he was in Colbotts bank he was probably someone pretty special. You had to have £80,000 to even open an account there. That was, after all, the kind of place that Howard specialised in – the sort of place that didn't even look like anything from the outside, the kind that you needed your own pass to get in. And, barring today's monumental fuck up, he was usually very good at it. The best. That was why his boss had asked for him specifically for this job. As tempting as it was to just take the £2,000,000 and disappear to a sunny island somewhere, reputation was everything in his game, which was why he had to arrange a meeting with his boss sooner rather than later. Luckily he had all his important contacts written in a beaten up black leather address book that he kept tucked behind a loose brick inside his chimney so he would be able to contact him without his mobile phone. He would just have to go out and find a phone box to call him. It wouldn't do to phone him from his own phone – that wasn't how things worked. You didn't let people know anything about you, not anything real. That was far too dangerous.

He walked into the kitchen and poured himself an extremely large whisky and drank deeply from the glass, wincing as the firey liquid hit the back of his throat. He wearily put the glass down on the counter and got on with his post job routine. As he waited for the water to run hot, he started stacking the dirty dishes from last night in the sink. It had been his best mate, Ian's idea, initially, about ten years ago. Howard could remember now how he'd started it, when they'd lived together in that dirty flat above a shop in Dalston. Ian had convinced him to leave the dishes until after they got back ('just in case something goes wrong Howard' he'd explained in his slightly nervous, breathy tone, 'if the police came looking round here, they wouldn't suspect us – no one would go out robbing without doing the washing up first'). Howard had laughed at his logic but somehow picked up the habit and it was now as much a part of his pre-job routine as checking over his kit or having one last look at the blueprints of the place he was turning over. Of course Ian was long gone – he had killed himself in prison. Howard didn't want to think of that though, not ever, and turned his attention to the dishes instead.

Just as he was wiping the suds from the first plate, the phone rang shrilly – the sound cut through the air, making him drop the plate back into the sink in shock. He clenched his jaw in annoyance at his routine being interrupted. Who the hell could that be? No one had his land line number and he was ex directory, obviously. Wiping the water from his face, he went to pick it up, muttering a prayer under his breath that it was just a wrong number or someone trying to sell him double glazing. He knew he shouldn't pick it up, that in reality, it wouldn't be a wrong number and he had never had a call about double glazing in the four years he had lived there. It had to be trouble.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively, as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Hiya!"

"Who is this?"

"It's Vince…..we met earlier today. I don't know, maybe you don't remember?"

Howard smiled, in spite of himself. Vince seemed to have that effect on him.

He sounded genuinely uncertain - as if he could forget him, even if they had met in slightly less ignominious circumstances.

"How the fuck did you get this number?" The laugh that tinkled down the phone at him made him want to hunt the little shit down and slap him round the face – not punch him, not shoot him, just a sharp slap to the face that would wipe the smug smile that he could hear right off it.

"Errr – I looked in the address book on your phone and found the number stored under Home," Howard screwed his eyes tightly shut, needing the rest of the glass of whiskey. How could he have been so stupid? Giving him his phone! He was willing to reconsider not wanting to shoot Vince.

"What do you want? And where the hell have you got the nerve to phone _me_ up? You know I could kill you right?"

"I know. But you won't. If you were going to you would've done it this afternoon, in the car,"

"You didn't answer me, what do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" Vince countered, cheekily.

Hearing his voice down the phone line felt strangely intimate. Howard cradled the receiver under his chin, imagining that they were the only people in the whole world as he walked the fine line between threatening and whatever this was turning into,

"Tell me" he growled.

"Money, of course. I reckon you owe me after all,"

"What!" Howard spluttered. He nearly hung up the phone before he realised Vince was still talking.

"I'm an accessory – you gave me the money and the phone – that means I've benefited from the crime. And I helped you escape from the police - "

"You were a hostage," Howard interrupted wearily, "you didn't have much choice,"

There was silence for a moment as Vince seemed to consider the idea. Howard was torn between hanging up and keeping the boy talking all night.

"I did though didn't I – I got into the van all on my own," he sounded almost proud of himself.

The simplicity and sheer audacity of the argument made Howard smile. He reached over and picked up a fifty pound note, rubbing it contemplatively between his fingers. The whole thing seemed almost surreal – who did this little tosser think he was?

"How much do you want? Couple of thou? A million? 50% ought to cover you for all the work you put into the job, all the risks you took,"

"Fuck you, you sarcastic twat, I only want a couple of hundred,"

Howard tried to justify it in his head – that he was only going to get his phone back, after all his boss had probably tried to call him a hundred times; that it might be a good idea to make sure the kid kept quiet, either with money or threats or actual violence – but in the end it was the desperate tinge to Vince's voice that made him forget the fact that London was crawling with police all looking for him and that in all his years in the business, this was the stupidest he had ever acted.

"Alright then, where do you live?"

"Carrestone Estate, London"

At this Howard started slightly – he knew the area by reputation alone. It was a shit hole, plain and simple – it was where the dregs of society were sent and discarded in the hope that they would either all kill each other or live happily in some kind of lawless savagery. The tower block that the Carrestone Estate was built around could be seen for miles and Howard could never be sure that it was just his imagination that made the sky look a little greyer over it. How the hell had Vince ended up living there? Howard knew it was madness to enter the Estate at night, let alone carrying large amounts of cash. So he was surprised when he heard a voice that he recognised as his own, arranging to meet the boy in the Duke of Wellington, a pub on the outskirts of the estate. He was halfway out the door, pulse racing at the thought of seeing the boy again, before he realised that he should change out of his bloodstained clothes into something less conspicuous. This boy was really going to be bad news.

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"So what's a guy like you doing somewhere like Colbotts?"

Vince smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow in a way that made Howard's face feel hot,

"You know that sounds like a bad chat up line don't you,"

Vince smiled shyly at him over the top of his drink. In another life they could be friends, maybe even more. The injustice of this made Howard feel sad and take a deep draught of his pint. Vince seemed to notice the shift in atmosphere and, dragging the sleeves of his top down over his hands, seamlessly put the conversation back onto a safer track,

"I was handing out CVs to all the places down the high street - I was looking for a job. I got sacked from my last one for giving my manager a hair cut. It wasn't my fault though, he looked genius with a mullet. But he wouldn't give me last month's pay – hence my searching for a new job before I get kicked out of my flat for not paying the rent – hence my needing the money,"

He stared down at the table, tracing the ringed stains of long-emptied pint glasses with his fingertip, obviously embarrassed. Howard reached into his back pocket and drew out the cash nervously, concealing the notes in the palm of his hand as best he could. He risked a swift look around the bar before handing over the cash. The place was pretty empty and most people in there looked harmless enough. Vince clung onto his hand for just a second too long, running his finger along Howard's palm and making him draw his hand sharply away, momentarily forgetting the money and the need for secrecy. In a move so practiced that it made Howard wonder at how innocent this boy was exactly, Vince slipped the fold of notes up into the cuff of his top, like a magician palming a card for some shit trick. Howard racked his brain for something to say, frustrated at himself for feeling nervous, like he was on a date,

"So you really live here then, the Carrestone Estate?"

Vince replied nonchantly, although a slight flush coloured his pale skin, belying his embarrassment,

"You know, it's not so bad as people think. There is trouble sometimes but if you keep your head down you generally get left alone. So where do you live then, some flash loft apartment in Canary Wharf, I bet?"

Howard chuckled, "Hardly. That sounds a bit trendy for me," Vince nodded eagerly and it occurred to Howard that Vince had just asked about his place to change the subject, and so pressed on with his questions,

"Seriously though Vince, how did you end up here?"

The smile slipped from Vince's face for a moment and he gazed down into the depths of his drink, before pasting the brightness back on,

"That's a story for another day,"

"I'll hold you to that," Howard retorted automatically.

Their eyes met as they shared the singular thought that there would be no other days, no time for any more stories. This really would be the last time they saw each other. Howard opened his mouth to say something when he saw him. The guy sitting at the bar, just visible over Vince's left shoulder. Something about his body language, the way he stared intently at Howard for a few seconds before pulling his phone from his pocket with studied carelessness and sending a text, made Howard instantly suspicious. It could be nothing, or it could be the police, or worse, he argued with himself, back and forth, wondering what to do. In the end his survival instinct paid off over any desire to stay and get to know Vince better.

"I'm just going to the toilet," he said to Vince, louder than was necessary, as he rose from his chair, but he needed the guy at the bar to hear so he wouldn't follow him.

He walked as slowly and calmly as he could to the toilet and pushed the door open, using the tips of his fingers on the tarnished brass plate, before letting it slam shut. Once inside he moved a lot more quickly. Throwing open the tiny window in one of the cubicles, he hauled himself up and out of it. It was a tight fit but somehow he managed it. He dropped lightly down onto the tarmac of the car park, his trainers barely making a sound, and walked quickly to his car, not looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

When he reached his car he breathed a slight sigh of relief that he had managed to get there without hand cuffs being slapped on his wrists, or the barrel of a gun shoved into his face. He got in and drove off as quickly as he could without attracting attention. Still, he wasn't so fast that when he pulled out of the car park in front of the pub, that he didn't see Vince sitting at the table, glancing nervously between the bar and the toilet door, as he drove past the front window. He wondered sadly how long he would sit there for before he realised something was wrong, that he wasn't coming back. Would Vince check the toilet, he wondered, the cold air from the open window would hit him like a slap in the face as he found the toilets empty and realised what he had done. Wanting to turn his brain off for a bit, he put on a jazz CD and scatted along softly to it as his car ate up the miles back to his house.

He hadn't even got through the front door before his home phone started ringing again. Hearing the synthesised tone reminded him that he had left his mobile with Vince. He pressed his fingers into his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the phone to stop ringing. Maybe if the phone just stopped ringing his head would stop feeling like it was going to explode. It was Vince again, it had to be. How had he made such a big mistake with this kid? As the phone rang off, leaving behind it deafening silence, Howard realised his whole body was tensed his teeth gritted, his toes digging into the ground. He had just started to force himself to relax, one muscle at a time, when the phone started ringing once more. Howard crossed the room in two strides,

"What?" he screamed into the handset.

"It's me again, Vince Noir," a forced tinkling laugh. He didn't sound so sure of himself this time, there was almost a tremor to his voice.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Come back, please. Come to my flat….." he trailed off into nothing.

"Fuck off, I swear – I'm going to…Arggghhh!" Howard ran his fingers roughly through his hair, "Why won't you just fuck off? I'm not giving you any more money!"

"I don't want any more money. It's number 248 by the way. The big tower block,"

Howard paused, unable to think of a single thing to say to this maddening, infuriating, beautiful idiot. His eyes widened when he heard it, what sounded like a quiet sobbing down the phone. It couldn't be. And even if it was…. This boy was nothing to do with him and that was the way he wanted it to stay. In as calm a voice as he could manage, enunciating all the words so he was sure Vince would hear and understand, he spoke into the receiver,

"Vince. I need you to listen to me very carefully and not to speak any more. I'm going to hang up the phone in a minute and under no circumstances are you to phone me again. I mean it. Vince, if you do, I swear, I will end you,"

"But – "

"I'm serious. You've just told me where you live. I'll come and set fire to your flat at night, when I know you're inside asleep,"

"You don't mean that," Vince countered. Howard could hear an almost laughing in his voice that made his stomach flip over, before his tone grew serious, little more than a hoarse whisper, "Please. I don't know why, I know I've only just met you. Jeez, I don't even know your name but I just need…you,"

"Goodbye Vince,"

Howard slammed the phone down, his whole body shaking with rage and something else entirely more terrifying. Barely a second later, the phone started ringing again. With a roar, Howard ripped the phone out of the wall, leaving the bare wires dangling out of the hole where the socket used to be. Without seeing, he threw it across the room where it shattered against the opposite wall, sending scream after scream to follow it. Only after the red mist cleared from his eyes he realised that he had left himself entirely without means of communications. As much as he hated to even entertain the idea, much as the idea of sticking red hot needles under his fingernails seemed like more of a fun prospect, as much as he knew leaving the house again was sheer lunacy, he knew he needed to get his mobile back. He had to go and see Vince. His mind started playing out a hundred scenarios – should he beat the shit out of him and take the phone back by force, even though he would give it willingly? Should he speak to him? Would the boy think it was only an excuse to see him again? Was it? Letting out a sigh that he dragged up from the tips of his toes, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa and headed out the door.

* * *

He pushed the door of the flat tentatively and it swung open without a sound. That wasn't a good sign – no one would leave their door unlocked around here if they were in their right mind. His fingers caught on the splintered wood where the lock had been kicked open. As he peered into the room Howard bit his lip to stop himself audibly gasping at the scene before him. It looked like a riot had run through the room. Every bit of furniture had been turned over or smashed – a threadbare arm chair lay at a crazy angle, a sofa bed had been pulled apart and the pillows slashed with a knife so the feathers lay thickly around, and the few items of crockery and cutlery had been thrown from the cupboard of the tiny kitchenette – it was clear that Vince did all his living in this one room. Magazines had been pulled from the shelves and strewn across the floor. The curtains were ripped down and the orange glow from the streetlight shone through the single small window. However, Howard didn't see any of this – all he could see was Vince, crumpled up against a wall in the corner, whimpering quietly to himself. His face was dripping with blood from a wound that Howard couldn't see from somewhere above his hairline and one of his eyes was already swollen shut. His previously fashionable clothes were dirty and torn and from his laboured breathing and the way he held his arm protectively across his front, Howard guessed that he had broken at least one rib. He could see from the trail of blood over the floor that Vince had to drag himself across the room to get to the ancient looking beige telephone that lay on the floor next to him. His head snapped up and the look in his one good eye was wild and staring, like a trapped animal. Howard held his hands up to show he was unarmed and began speaking gently as he moved slowly across the room towards Vince,

"Shh shh, Vince. It's me. You phoned me,"

He was a couple of feet away before Vince seemed to visibly relax and threw himself into Howard's arms. Howard looked up at the ceiling, wondering why every shirt he put on today was destined to get covered in blood – this one, a Hawaian shirt in varying shades of brown, would at least hide the stains a little.

"You came. I didn't think you would,"

Howard wondered briefly why he had risked his life and freedom to come out and see this kid, for the second time,

"You sounded like you needed someone,"

Howard looked round the room slowly, doubting whether Vince had had anything worth stealing in the first place. That must've been painfully obvious to anyone that broke in but to take it out on the boy was just unfair. Still, there were so many new kids coming up in the game – everyone with a gun and a bad attitude was seeking to make a name for themselves nowdays. It used to be so different, more like a trade, skills to learn instead of just showing someone the pointy end of your knife. It wasn't until Howard caught sight of the money, the same roll of notes that he had given to Vince just a few hours earlier, sat on top of the gas fire, in full view, that alarm bells started to ring,

"What have they taken then Vince, TV, DVD player?

"No I never had them in the first place,"

"What then, look around,"

Vince looked round the room, bemusedly taking stock of his meagre possessions. It didn't take long,

"Nothing,"

"Nothing? Nothing at all? What did they want then, you in some sort of trouble?"

"No – oh, something is missing," Vince's hands fluttered awkwardly over his clothes, patting himself down as his eyes scanned the room, "Your phone – the one you lent me. I'm so sorry, it looked expensive, not that I suppose you're worried about that. But if there's anything –"

Howard cut him off, his voice low and dangerous,

"The man that broke in, what did he look like?"

"He was kind of funny looking – old, with long white hair like Jimmy Saville and his clothes were old fashioned, like he had come from being an extra in Mary Poppins. The thing is Howard, this is going to sound weird but he was….green,"

"Green?"

"Yeah, with one normal eye and one big eye like a giant polo,"

Howard steadied himself as a memory swum to the forefront of his mind. His boss teasing him about his flash new mobile 'That's a fancy phone you got there squire. Of course in my day there was no such thing. People used to have to leave a message for me in Elsie's Pie and Mash shop if they wanted me. Course, I'm no good at texting, not with this humungous thumb," his bony green fingers closed around the phone to examine it speculatively as Howard had boasted about the fact that it was one of the only ones in the UK. His stomach went into freefall.

"We have to get out of here. Now!" He grabbed Vince by the arm and dragged him bodily from the flat as he flailed his arms and tried to run back in. They made no progress for a couple of seconds until Vince stood still and shouted

"Stop!"

It shocked Howard sufficiently for Vince to wriggle free from his grasp and dart forward to pick up a large black canvas case from the corner of the room before turning and running after Howard without looking back or even bothering to shut the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a wail of sirens and two police cars and a fire engine whizzed past them, painting the dark night blue and white. Howard kept his head down until they were past. He could see Vince looking at him at him from the corner of his eye but kept his eyes on the road and just gripped the steering wheel tighter, both glad and dismayed that for once, the boy had chosen to be silent. With a wrench of the wheel, he kerbed the car and drove it into the hedge that grew on either side of the road, wincing as branches squealed over the body of the car.

"What the fuck're you doing" Vince shouted, hands over eyes. Howard said nothing and instead forced the car door open and got out, ignoring the scratches that the pushing through the undergrowth earned him. Vince followed suit, mumbling about how it was ruining his top and how he could've got out before they parked the car in the hedge. Howard was just about to tell him to shut the fuck up when he noticed the boy struggling to get through the undergrowth, his top already ruined beyond the point of ever being wearable again, and remembered shamefully his broken ribs. So he liked to put up a front of being tough, Howard realised. As Vince attempted to brush the leaves off his top, Howard grabbed his hand and pulled him along the road, continuing in the direction that they had been travelling. As they rounded the corner, it became immediately apparent what the problem was. The sky was lit orange from the blaze and emergency vehicles of all types were gathered what was left of Howard's house. Flames licked the walls as fire fighters tried in vain to control the inferno.

"Shit,"

Howard crouched down, his head in his hands and shouted it again,

"Shit, Shit, Shit!"

Feeling Vince's light touch on his shoulder, he gazed up into the boy's troubled face with a look of fear,

"That's my house! My fucking house!"

"Is it insured?" Vince asked, simply, stopping the hysteria that was building in Howard's chest,"

"Yes – but that's not the problem. All my stuff…my lovely stuff. I had some jazz records that are irreplaceable. Oh, and the small matter of two million fucking pounds!" The hysteria was back, shriller and tighter than ever and he had to stand up and start pacing back and forth to stop himself from screaming, because he knew once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Even now, faced with a flaming pyre of evidence, flickering in his face like a neon sign, he couldn't tell Vince the true extent of the horror, the danger they were in, the sheer awfulness of it all.

Vince started walking towards the house, only to find himself spun on his axis as Howard grabbed him by the shoulder. The jolt through his injured ribs made him clench his teeth in agony, his eyes blazing,

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Vince demanded.

Howard's face mirrored his fury, the distant flames making the gentle brown of his small eyes shine almost red in the night sky.

"I could ask you the same thing!"

"I was just going to have a closer look, you know, see if there was any of your things that were ok,"

"You can't just go waltzing over there, what good do you think that's going to do?" he affected a camp stance, and lisped girlishly, "Ooh Mister Fireman, can I just pop inside that burning building and grab all of the valuables. Oh no, I don't live here, this house is Howard Moon's, you know, the one that the whole country's police force is looking for today. Get fucking real Vince, you can't get whatever you want just by being pretty you know,"

The anger seeped out of Vince's face and was replaced by a blushing smile,

"You think I'm pretty," he murmured. It wasn't until then that Howard realised what he had said, and groaned internally. If this boy didn't fuck off soon, he really was going to end up at the bottom of a canal. He needed to make him see that, and fast,

"Right, listen here you little tit box. You got the shit kicked out of you today and I'm sorry about that but the way you act, I'm frankly surprised that it doesn't happen more often, and besides, it was nothing to do with me," he winced at the lie, "as you can see, I'm in no position to help you now, so you may as well just run along,"

He expected Vince to cower at his words or look upset but he barely reacted, other than to raise an eyebrow archly,

"No, _Howard Moon_, you listen to me. Thanks to your childish tantrum, I know your name, I know where you live, or at least I did before somebody turned your house into the world's most expensive bonfire. I reckon I'm the one holding all the cards now. For one thing, I've had more than enough beatings from my step dad to last me a life-time, that's how I ended up in that shit hole down at the Carrestone. So don't you ever think that I'm in need of one. Secondly, you're talking bollocks. I saw how you reacted when I said who broke into my flat. I don't know what's going on but I know that he didn't want anything that I had so it must be about you. My life might have not been completely fucking genius before but you've gone and got me into a whole shit heap of trouble so don't you dare fucking talk to me like that again. And as for running along, have you seen these shoes?" he flicked up a silver cowboy booted heel with an amused grimace.

Howard clenched and unclenched his hands slowly. The only thing that was preventing him from punching that jumped up little cunt who thought he could order him around, square in the face was the absolute and certain knowledge that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He could imagine slamming the kid's head against the pavement just a bit _too_ clearly. Plus there were too many people around, it really wouldn't do to draw any more attention to themselves than they already had. Instead, he set his face into a mask of grim indifference, lips clamped tightly to stop the screams from bubbling out, and headed back towards the car without a word.

He had barely taken two steps, acknowledging silently that Vince was trotting along beside him, when he saw two familiar men coming towards him, deep in conversation. They hadn't looked up, they hadn't noticed him…yet. Blinded by panic, he threw himself back against the fence that banked the pavement and pulled Vince into him, kissing him violently. His eyes shot open with surprise as Vince returned the kiss with equal passion, kissing him hungrily, desperately. His cheeks grew flushed and he felt himself harden as Vince's hands snaked up into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Unconsciously his hands gripped Vince's buttocks, causing him to groan into his mouth. His head was swimming and he was barely aware the two men had passed them, muttering 'fucking queers' to each other. As their footsteps began to echo away, it took all of Howard's self control to shove the smaller boy's body away from his. Vince's eyes flashed with lust as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, panting heavily,

"Wow," he breathed.

Howard had to look at the ground for a moment, certain that if his eyes remained locked on the bright blue ones for a moment longer, he wouldn't be able to resist,

"You tit box. I was just trying to hide my face from those men. What the fuck made you start all that funny business? Don't touch me again!" Once again, he was surprised that Vince didn't crumble at his words but just laughed,

"Try saying that when your cock doesn't look like its about to burst your fly open and it might be a bit more believeable!"

Howard opened his mouth, then shut it again before muttering,

"Just…get back to the car,"

Howard reversed the car out of the hedge and drove the car to a quiet car park he knew about. Bathed in the silvery white light of the street lamps that illuminated the car park, he turned towards Vince, gritting his teeth to see the smug grin on his face. He leaned in towards him and reached his hand slowly forward and Vince's eyes turned downwards as the back of his hand brushed his knee. Finally his hand found what he had been seeking for….the catch of the glove box. He allowed himself a gratified smile when he saw the disappointment flash over the boy's pointy features as he began to rifle through the papers there.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked.

"Everything I own is in this car, I was rather hoping that there might be something of value,"

He then exited the car and opened the boot, moving the first aid kit, blanket - and other things he kept there in case of emergencies - frustratedly from side to side, looking for something, _anything_, of value. Finally admitting defeat, he got back into the car, staring silently at Vince,

"Howard why are you looking at me like were on a desert island and you're starting to hallucinate that I'm a giant ham?"

"What have you got? In that case? Must be pretty fucking valuable for you to want it so much."

Vince's sunshiny features turned serious for a moment, just a flash of hardness that Howard noted, made him look almost ugly.

"It's nothing. Nothing. Just leave it Howard. I've, I've got this,"

He held out the roll of notes that Howard had given him earlier almost shyly. Howard snatched it off him and flicked his thumb feverishly over the notes, counting them, forgetting he had counted themselves out only a couple of hours earlier. Was it really that short a time? It seemed like a life time ago, when his life was his own and not the nightmare that he seemed to have slipped into. A couple of hundred quid, it was nothing really but it would have to do. Barely looking over at Vince, he pulled his seatbelt back on,

"Go on then, you little shit, fuck off," he didn't have the faintest idea of what he was going to do but he couldn't be looking after this kid, not when he barely knew what he was going to do with himself. The feeling of responsibility and self pity was nearly drowning him, crushing his chest.

Vince didn't move, but looked at him as though he were a small child that needed something explaining to, preferably using words of less than one syllable.

"Howard, I know you don't like this but you and me are in this together now, and I'm not going anywhere. I've got nowhere to go, other than where you're going. I know that you're some big shot bank robber or something and I'm, well I'm nothing, but right now we're all each other has got and I reckon that's got to count for something hasn't it? So why don't you start by telling me what sort of trouble we're in before that big vein in your neck bursts. Because, trust me, the last thing either of us needs is to get covered in any more blood today."

Howard opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it again, scared that if he spoke he might cry. Instead he sat for a few moments, staring out at the night sky, in a silence that Vince, in a rare moment of being able to keep himself from talking, allowed. Although he didn't move a muscle, his mind was racing, running over the ghosts of plans that he dismissed almost before they entered his conciousness. Finally, he came up with something that didn't seem as phenomenally shitty as the others, and nodded to himself,

"Right," he set the car in gear without even looking at the boy, "Right". He drove off into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey all, sorry for the long absence. I'm back now though - hope someone is still reading! **

**Disclaimer - I don't own ...etc**

**Warning - this chapter contains mild violence and slash. **

* * *

The curtains of the B and B had once been floral but were now faded and grimy. Howard whipped them across the window, shutting out the sunlight and painting the room in mute, sepia tones. He silently peered through a crack in the curtains for what seemed to Vince to be about an hour although was in reality more like ten minutes.

They had arrived there earlier that morning; Howard had driven through what was left of the night, his determined face streaked pink and gold with the rising sun. Vince wasn't sure where they were – he had fallen asleep shortly after he had deduced from the road signs that they were heading north. However, the sound of the seagulls and the blurred memories of the dirty exterior of the B & B, with its VACANCIES sign hanging crookedly in the window, neighboured by flashy arcades, that he had seen as Howard had dragged him, half asleep from the car to reception, made him sure that they were somewhere at the seaside. He hoped it was Blackpool: his Nan had taken him to Blackpool once when he was a kid, before she died.

After he had finally satisfied himself that no one outside looked suspicious, Howard sighed and moved away from the window, sitting down on the end of his narrow bed, wincing as he felt the springs move under his weight. A twin room. He couldn't help wondering what he would've chosen if he'd really been given the choice, away from the accusing stare of the fat man on reception, with his dirty vest and his cigarette dripping ash like autumn leaves down onto the wooden counter. He allowed himself to imagine what it would be like cuddling up to Vince in a big double bed, he'd probably be all sharp and angular, cold feet and elbows.

He knew he desperately needed some sleep but his mind wouldn't slow down, wouldn't stop racing. He thought back to the stop they'd made at the service station earlier.

_Vince had gone off to the toilets while Howard had gone to the shop to get himself a cheap pay as you go mobile. It was only after he'd paid and was idling by the paperbacks, waiting for Vince that he saw the morning's papers. The headlines made him freeze, his heart in his mouth, "Fears grow for missing girl" "Police fear Hostage dead" "Bank Robbery Hostage still Missing". And under all of them, the same grainy blurred black and white still from the CCTV footage, Vince pressed up against him, the barrel of the gun at his temple. His head was bowed and his long dark hair had fallen slightly over one eye but it was unmistakeably him._

_"Wotcha," all of a sudden, Vince was at his side._

_"We've got to get out of here," Howard hissed as he grabbed Vince by the elbow and started steering him out of the shop. Vince glanced down comically at Howard's hand_

_"This is becoming a bit of a habit for you isn't it,"_

_"Shut up, didn't you see the papers?" By this time they were back at the car._

_"You've got nothing to worry about, no one's gonna recognise you from that picture, your face was like a pink ball…."_

Slowly, a quiet but repetitive noise seeped into his consciousness, the sound of scissors slicing through fabric or something. He gasped as he looked up and saw Vince sat in front of the mirror, calmly hacking at his hair with a small pair of scissors, clumps gathering on his shoulders and the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I saw the picture, just like you did; I can't carry on walking around looking like this. All you could really see of me was the hair so I thought it was best to just chop it off,"

"But…." Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and Howard was rendered speechless. With his hair shorter, Vince's cheekbones looked sharper, his eyes bigger and bluer, even under the bruises.

"Come here and help, I can't reach the back," Vince held out the scissors to Howard.

Reluctantly he got up and moved towards Vince, hating the magnetic pull that was dragging his feet towards where the boy sat. He took the scissors from him, trying to suppress the tremble in his fingers as they brushed Vince's. He took a handful of Vince's hair from the nape of his neck and forced the scissors through it, the silky locks coming away in his hand. As he reached for another handful his eyes met Vince's in the mirror as his fingertips lingered just a little too long, marvelling at the secret softness of the white skin at the back of Vince's neck. Vince seemed to shudder slightly, and then leaned into his hand, arching his shoulders in an almost feline manner. Without really realising it, Howard gave himself to the experience, forgetting the task he was supposed to be doing in favour of stroking Vince's neck, scratching lightly with his nails and experimentally sweeping his hand down inside his t-shirt. Suddenly Vince sniggered, the kind of arrogant laugh that set his teeth on edge and his eyes snapped back to the mirror. Vince was looking in the reflection, with archly raised eyebrows at the erection he was sporting. For a moment, Howard felt mortified and began mumbling about how it was just a human reaction Sir, nothing funny about it, before Vince, with swivelled round on the stool so he was facing him and looked up at him through his lashes, his hand on the waistband of his brown cords. For a moment, he stroked Howard through the fabric, before unzipping them and letting them fall to the ground, where they were swiftly followed by his pants. Howard groaned and let his head roll back as he felt the tip of a hot wet tongue run around the head of his penis. Just as his mind was clearing and heading towards oblivion, the little tosser had to spoil it all. He snorted a little, that same fucking arrogant laugh and said mockingly,

"I knew I could have you, get you like this I mean. I knew it from the first time I was in the car with you,"

Without waiting for a reply, he wrapped his lips around the older man's cock and starting sucking, but for Howard, rage overtook his lust. How dare that...wanker...fuck with him. Leading him on and getting him worked up like it was some kind of game. He wasn't normally a violent or hot tempered man unless he had to be but he forgot that fact as he grabbed the back of the boy's head by the long hair he still had and forced himself deep into the boy's mouth, relishing the sound of his gagging. He looked down and found that the boy's eyes staring back up at him, now terrified and tearful, gave him almost immeasurable pleasure.

"You still don't get it do you, that you're in out of your depth. That I could kill you in a heartbeat. You fucking prick,"

He thrust into him again and again, roughly, deeply, using his hand to keep the boy's head in place as white hot rage flashed through his entire body like lightening. He was shaking with it. His eyes were closed but it didn't stop the images whirling around in his consciousness, faster and dizzyingly faster: His house burning to the ground; the security guard with his face all blown apart; Jim dead; Jackie dead; other memories – older, darker things that he couldn't even acknowledge to himself; the two thugs he had seen by his house; the boy laughing at him. His anger and his arousal seemed to be like gasoline and a flame, one spurring the other on. With a gasp, he withdrew sharply and came in long white spurts all over the boy's whimpering pathetic face. Without a word, he pulled his clothes back into as the boy sat silently, head bowed. It was only after a few seconds, as the euphoria of his orgasm, and the red mist of his rage began to fade that the first pangs of panicky guilt set in.

"Look at me," There was nothing. It was as though Vince hadn't heard him.

"Look at me, you little shit,"

When Vince raised his head, the set of his face was almost triumphant, his eyes glazed with lust. He was grinning and panting slightly. It was only then that Howard realised with horror that Vince had actually liked it, liked him completely losing it, that he had given him exactly what he wanted. Vince licked his lips with a salaciousness that made him feel sad and sickened at the same time. Not able to bear being in the same room as him for another second he turned to walk out the door of the hotel room,

"Clean yourself up, look at the state of you," he muttered disgustedly before letting the door slam behind him.

The wind outside was colder than he had expected, a thin drizzle blowing off the sea, chilling him to the bone and making him long for the coat he had left in the hotel room. When he thought back to what had just happened he had to bite back bile at the awfulness of it. What had come over him? He had heard some of his acquaintances (he refused to acknowledge them as friends) boasting about what they had done to girls, prostitutes mainly, but he had always felt himself to be way above those animals. Until now.

Needing to dull the feeling of shame and revulsion, he wandered, almost without thinking, into a grotty corner shop, its gaudy neon signs proclaiming cheap booze shining bravely in the grey afternoon. Howard bought a couple of bottles of cheap wine and sat on the deserted shingle beach and drank one of them. After a while his face felt numb from the cold and he couldn't tell if the salty droplets on his face were tears or splashes from the iron grey waves that were relentlessly pounding the rocks in front of him. He wasn't like them, really he wasn't. It was just Vince was so infuriating. It was almost like he did it on purpose. God he wanted to shake the kid until his teeth rattled. Everything had gone wrong since he had appeared on the scene like a fucking bad penny. He resented that jumped up Camden tart with a ferocity that scared him almost as much as the other thing that was always there, just under the surface whenever he was with him. He allowed himself a few minutes of luxuriating in the gorgeous misery of it all before dragging himself reluctantly up and back towards the hotel before the feeling of futility overtook him completely.

Howard had barely got in the door when Vince flew at him, tears streaming down his pale face, his arms flailing.

"You bastard!" He screeched, getting in a few slaps to Howard's face before the older man managed to grab his wrists and restrain him.

Vince struggled for a few minutes before collapsing against his chest, "I thought you weren't coming back, I thought you'd left me here," he murmured weakly into Howard's shirt. He had only been gone a couple of hours but Vince seemed to have completely unravelled in that time.

Howard was shocked. "I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again,"

"Why?" Vince asked, seemingly having forgotten the incident earlier, before his face coloured, the blush blooming across his pale face, "I didn't mind that," he said, a note of uncharacteristic shyness creeping into his voice, "I mean, if that's what you like?" he looked up at Howard uncertainly and everything Howard thought he knew about the boy shifted a little, for what felt like the hundredth time.

He dropped the boy's hands and took a step back, sinking onto the bed. The boy was obviously craving reassurance – praise even – but Howard couldn't think of anything positive to say about what had happened before. That boy had obviously gone wrong if he was prepared to tolerate being treated like that, to _enjoy _it. He reached down into the crumpled carrier bag for the second bottle of wine and took a deep draught from it, needing the alcohol burn in his throat, before answering

"No of course that's not what I like. What sort of man do you think I am?" He paused for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on eternally as Vince failed to come up with any sort of an answer, seemingly waiting for more. "Listen, I'm sorry, it's just you get me so..." he tried to fill the void in his words with a vague wave of his hands.

"If you hate being with me so much then why don't you just go back?" The look of the innocent boy, keen for approval was swiftly replaced by sullenness.

"There's nothing back there for me any more. Everything I had has gone up in smoke. My whole life was in that house. Almost," He finished quietly, not looking up.

"Oh stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself, Mister Mansion in the country," Vince countered, his voice raised defiantly as he strode across the tiny room, "I never had anything to lose in the first place. Nothing that was worth anything. So I reckon that's worse don't you?"

Almost too late, he seemed to catch the meaning of Howard's last word, and the wind was taken out of his sails. He sat down on the bed next to Howard, "Not til now," the challenge gone, now more of a plea.

Timidly, the bigger man looked him in the eye and between them something passed wordlessly: 'All I've ever had is you,' said one; 'I'm scared by how much I already need you,' answered the other, merely by the meeting of their eyes. The atmosphere was electric for a moment and then was snuffed out to nothing by a creak on the stairs with a swiftness that almost hurt and left them both wondering if they imagined it.

Vince cleared his throat awkwardly, "So, er, what went so wrong then, do you reckon? Or are you always that shit at robbing banks?"

Howard leaned back on the thin square of foam that passed as a pillow in this hotel and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, squeezing his eyes shut, mustering the courage to say the words that would make the collapse of his life complete,

"I'm in big trouble. Really big trouble and I didn't even know it until, well, until it was far too late. In the business I'm in you never trust anyone – criminals against criminals. That's the rule. More nowadays than it used to be. These young guys don't understand the old ways. But when I did that job yesterday" (was it really only yesterday, he marvelled) "I was working for someone who I trusted. One of the guys from way back, who understood the code. In a lot of ways he was like a father to me. He was there for me when...when..."

For a moment it looked to Vince like he was lost, drowning in the enormity of what he was trying to say and he longed to throw him the life raft of a cheeky comment or some kind of prompt to get him back on track but he decided, as he did on rare occasions, to keep his mouth closed. Instead he just took a drink from the wine bottle as though nothing was amiss and presently Howard continued,

"...well he's helped me out a lot anyway. That was why I took the job working for him. I don't do a lot any more, don't need to. And besides, the thrill was wearing off; it was all getting very old. But anyway, he came looking for me especially, which isn't easy – I keep myself very well hidden – and I couldn't say no, didn't want to say no. Even after all these years I wanted to please him, wanted him to say 'well done my boy'" Howard approximated a rasping cockney accent that made Vince snap to attention,

"The man that done me over?"

Howard's bitter smile answered him immediately "One and the same. The Hitcher, he's known as. He had another name once but he's made sure it got lost and forgotten. It's better that way. Almost no one knows my real name, apart from him,"

"And me," piped in Vince with a hint of pride in his voice, making Howard blush at the implied intimateness of it,

"Well yes, but that was an accident. Anyway, I took this job and from the start it didn't go right. Things shouldn't go wrong, not when they're planned by an old master like the Hitcher. Maybe with these kids but not with him...but anyway, because I trusted him, I carried on, I ignored the feeling that something was wrong and just ploughed on. And the worst thing was I didn't even know it the whole way through. Even after he came to yours I didn't want to believe it – when it was as clear as day! I've been such a fool!" he ran his hands through his fine hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions and Vince's fingers itched to reach out and smooth it down.

"It wasn't until I got back to my house and saw those two guys – they worked for him, you see, I've seen them at meetings I've had with him. I've never met them directly but they were always there in the background. They did a lot of what he called his 'dirty work',"

"Like burning down houses?"

"And worse. Once he found out from my mobile where I lived he must've just sent those two round to make sure I was eliminated"

At this, Vince's eyes widened, "So it was my fault?"

Howard laid a reassuring hand on the boy's slender forearm,

"No, not at all. It was my own fault for leaving the house; I knew it was stupid when I was doing it. I was safe there you see, no one knew where I lived. But to meet you in the pub – madness. You didn't know anything of what was going on when you asked to meet me, I should've said no. Totally my own fault, I got spotted there by someone who knew that The Hitcher was after me and tipped him off. He must've been surprised I got back from the job at all...The moment I walked into the bank and saw all the civilians, alarm bells started ringing. He'd promised the palce would be empty, see - and if I had been working for anyone else I would've got the hell out of there...but I couldn't believe...not him...and I wanted to please him...after all these years."

Vince didn't understand everything, couldn't see what was going through Howard's head in the long pauses where he wasn't speaking but he knew enough,

"So he set you up?"

"It would seem that way. One way or another I wasn't supposed to come out of that job alive. Either prison or death seemed the more likely outcomes –"

"Well he didn't bank on me did he,"

Howard shot Vince a warning look, "Vince, don't think you can get mixed up in this – he's a big man, a dangerous man, and you're only a..."

"Little man?" Vince offered helpfully, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a shy grin. Howard smiled back almost playfully, his troubles forgotten for a moment,

"Yes – little man," he repeated fondly.

Later that night when the darkness had really set in and the wine was all gone, Vince wriggled his way into the crook of Howard's armpit as he lay with his hands behind his head on the single bed,

"So what are you going to do now?"

"There's only one thing I can do," Howard sighed, "I've got to find the Hitcher."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Really? I'm updating this after all this time? Is there some kind of record for delay between chapter updates? I doubt anyone has holding their breath for this but the inspiration has come back to me so I thought I might limp this story on home towards its eventual conclusion. I really will try and finish it this time!**

**I do not own Mighty Boosh etc**

* * *

Vince rolled his eyes theatrically as he sprawled on the red leather sofa, legs spread wide. Howard drifted into the room and sat opposite him, still too dazed from what Anderson had told him to speak, and just stared at the boy instead. Everything about his manner seemed to be trying to provoke and it was working. Howard clenched his fists reflexively. How did the boy - Vince - get him like this? So angry that he was wishing the coffee table between them still had a glass top to it, just so he could punch a hole in it with his bare hand. Instead he glared at the boy's neck, imagining how easy it would be to snap it, eyeing the delicate collarbones, the pulse beating almost imperceptibly underneath the skin. Of course, seeing this didn't help matters much. He wondered how much longer this could go on. The constant battle in his mind between want to kill the little tit box and fuck his brains out.

"So tell me again," Vince asked, and Howard's irritation cranked up just a tiny notch at the smugness in his voice.

"What?" he snapped.

"Tell me again why I can't come with you tomorrow,"

"Well Mr 'I've got a photographic memory', I would've thought you would remember the answer from say, the last hundred times I've explained this to you,"

"Tell me again,"

"Vince, you can't come with us! For one thing, you've got absolutely no experience at bank robberies,"

"I think I've got a _little_ bit of experience," he countered, slyly, reaching up to ruffle the back of his hair, which was already starting to grow longer again.

"You were a hostage. Anyone can have a gun pointed at them. In fact if you don't shut up, you might have a whole lot more experience at it. Secondly, we don't need you – we've got enough people to fill all the roles and besides, there's no room in the car – "

"I'm only little. I could sit on your lap. You know you'd like that,"

"No, I mean…." Howard could see that Vince was enjoying getting him flustered, "Thirdly….thirdly, you just haven't got the look for it. You're too distinctive,"

"You mean I don't have the facial equivalent of lift music, like you,"

"Exactly. Your face is very visually noisy. People would remember you. If you just strolled in there looking like….like…." Howard waved his hand vaguely in Vince's direction

"A stone cold fox?" Vince offered, helpfully.

"What? Well…you know that's not…." Howard blustered, feeling his face reddening, knowing that he had once again been cornered by the grinning idiot sat before him. In an instant he was out of his chair before he even knew whether he was going to kiss him or kill him,

"Finally," Vince breathed gratefully.

Howard was just about to find out which of his desires were the stronger when raised voices started from the kitchen. He froze, his finger raised at Vince to keep quiet, as they stared at each other quizzically, wondering what the trouble was this time. The shouts were followed by the sound of a scuffle, breaking plates, chairs being pushed back. Howard was just about to go and break it up when there was a louder thump, followed by a scream of pain. He and Vince rushed into the next room and were greeted by the sight of Baxter, red faced with agony, his hand pinned to the table with a large kitchen knife. Cartwright stood looking on, his arms folded in satisfaction, smirking at the death threats Baxter was throwing his way. Anderson was nowhere to be seen. With a last yell, Baxter pulled the knife free from his hand, looking almost comically terrified at the amount of blood this produced. He pulled the tablecloth from the table, wrapped it round his hand and stormed out of the room, followed by Cartwright, who seemed to have only just grasped the seriousness of the situation.

Howard took a step to follow them out, before stopping, exasperated. Let that pair of idiots sort it out.

Just to check that he wasn't, in fact, living in a nightmare, he gave himself a Chinese burn, grimacing at the dual realisation that yes it had indeed hurt, and that this ever-worsening series of events was the reality of his life.

_How could things get any worse_, he asked himself silently, before glancing up and catching sight of Vince's grinning face.

"I guess you're going to need me after all, eh Howard,"

That was how.

* * *

**ONE WEEK EARLIER**

They checked out of the hotel and walked to the car without a word. Vince strapped himself into the passenger seat and crossed his arms, petulantly.

"I'm getting pretty sick of this you know. I'm not still a hostage, you can tell me where we're going,"

"Oh shut up Vince, I'm not in the mood for you today," Howard snapped. His head was aching from too much cheap wine and he would've given a lot to go straight back to bed. Glancing over at Vince, he caught sight of his hurt expression, and softened,

"Sorry little man, we're going to call on a couple of old friends of mine. They used to do a lot of work for the Hitcher. They might have some information that could lead us to him. They live a little way from here, in Leeds,"

"S'that where you're from?" Vince asked. He had wondered at the soft Northern twang to Howard's voice but he knew Howard liked to keep that whole 'man of mystery' thing going on, so hadn't asked. He was curious now though,

"That's right,"

"So why'd you leave?"

"Some….things. Happened," Howard didn't take his eyes off the road but Vince noticed his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

"Things? What sort of things?"

"The sort of things I don't want to talk about with someone like you"

"Like me?" Somewhere in the back of his brain, Vince became aware that he was beginning to sound like a parrot.

The look Howard gave him was pure derision, "Look at you, you electro poof. What do you know about….things? I told you already I can't cope with you and your idiocy today so please, for once, shut up,"

Vince barely seemed to react, gazing out the window and humming to himself. There was no more talking for the rest of the journey. After a while, Howard started to miss it and the journey seemed to take twice as long as he had expected. Eventually he pulled in down a dark, narrow side street, flanked on either side by grimy Victorian terraced houses and parked the car in front of one of them. Vince watched him take a deep breath and smooth down the front of his shirt before turning to him with a warning "whatever happens, stay here in the car," before getting out and knocking on the front door. Vince leapt out the car, seconds behind him. Howard looked sideways at him with a glare that could melt paint off a wall but didn't say anything, focussing his energy on hammering his fist on the door, whilst leaning down and shouting "Cartwright, come and open this door this instant you lazy shit" through the letter box. There was a sound of running from inside the house before the scrape of what sounded like several security chains from the door. Not that that surprised Howard, he had the same set up at home. Or did have, he reminded himself bitterly.

The door swung open a crack and Cartwright's stocky face peered out through the crack in the door.

"Bloody amateur", Howard grimaced to himself as he shouldered the door open and wedged his leg into the gap. "What's the point of having all this security if you're just going to open the door to anyone that comes and knocks on it?"

Cartwright steps back to let them in, blinking warily as the bright light from outside floods the dingy hallway, gone as quickly as it came when he shut the door behind them.

"But you ain't anybody are you, I know who you are. I just don't know why you're here," he doesn't smile, just tightens the knot in his brown towelling dressing gown. Stubble littered his jaw and his eyes were heavy and tired looking. Howard could see the red marks on the side of his nose where he had been wearing his glasses.

Howard can tell instantly from the suspicious reception that this is a bad time, something's going on and his stomach sinks. He knows Cartwright of old, stubborn prick, and he won't like having them there, messing with the plan, disrupting things. He won't be co operative, Howard can already tell.

"Who the fuck is it?" an Irish accented voice came from upstairs.

Cartwright turned his head and yelled back, "You'll never guess!" Howard can hear that he is smirking and it makes his fingers twitch for the gun in his jacket pocket.

"Your mum, coming back for more?" came the reply

"Fuck, you! No, I'll give you a clue…I spy with my little eye, something beginning with J"

"It never is!" There was a muffled thump in an upstairs room and then Howard could see the long skinny denim-clad legs of Anderson descending the stairs. He came to a halt next to Cartwright, folding his arms and grinning. They made quite a pair, Cartwright in his socks and dressing gown, short and barrel chested and Anderson, a lanky streak of piss if Howard had ever seen one, dressed like a catalogue model.

"Well look what we have here, Mr Famous, we saw you in the paper the other day,"

"Yeah, now you're here, bringing trouble to our door, thank you so much," Cartwright still twitchy, sarcastic.

Howard's mind was working fast: Cartwright - .45 in his left dressing gown pocket, Anderson - definitely armed, tucked in the back of his jeans but not sure what. The two of them blocking them in the hallway, front door at their backs, opens inwards - would there be enough space to open it and get out in a scuffle, probably not. Not an ideal situation but he's been in worse. But what about Vince? His eyes flick to the left to look at him, he's got his hands stuck into the pockets of his skinny jeans, smiling nervously.

Cartwright catches the movement of Howard's small eyes, "And who's your friend?"

Vince's smile lights up and he pulls a hand out of his pocket and offers it to Cartwright

"Alright mate, I'm – "

"No!" shouts Howard. The three others look at him curiously and there is a beat of silence as he feels a drop of sweat bead up on the small of his back. "Err, that is No-el. Noel, his name is Noel," Vince cocks an eyebrow but nods and goes along with it. Cartwright looks down at the proffered hand but ignores it.

"Nice to meet you No-el," Anderson said, still smiling. That makes Howard just as nervous as Cartwright's surliness. At least with Cartwright you could read him easily, whereas with Anderson, the nicer he was being, the more dangerous he was. That's how he was so good at what he did.

"Nice to meet you too, wow it's a genius house you got here, look at the size of your kitchen, is that one of those American fridge freezer things? Does it have one of those ice makers on it? Reckon you could convert it to make flavoured ice?" They turned and looked backwards into the kitchen, confused expressions on their faces, while Vince carried on incessantly asking questions until they had stepped backwards into the kitchen and Anderson was explaining about the boiling water tap. Howard and Vince's eyes met for a minute as they simultaneously moved forwards into the house to create a bit of space and Vince smiled widely at Howard.

Howard wasn't sure if Vince had diffused that tense, tight situation on purpose, but he had done it as well as if he had. Useful skill that, that could come in handy, he noted, before shaking his head. The kid was doing it to him again, making himself useful, making him not want to get rid of him, same as in the van.

It wasn't until they were all perched on the uncomfortable red leather sofas that graced the living room of Cartwright and Anderson's bachelor pad, clutching mugs of coffee (except Vince, who had a can of coke) that the last vestiges of the friendly atmosphere Vince had created began to dissipate. It was Cartwright who started it, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"So Barratt, s'cuse my French but what the fuck is it you're playing at, turning up here out the blue? I mean, you've been gone for years. We didn't even know you were still alive til we saw you in the paper the other day,"

"Well, fellas it's like this, I need a bit of help," Howard laughed nervously.

Vince wished he could reach out and grab his hand but suspected this might cause even more trouble.

"What do we owe you J? You just disappeared and left us in the lurch, without even an explanation"

Howard thought he could detect a tinge of hurt, betrayal, in Cartwright's cold tone.

"There were...things going down"

"Anyway," Anderson interrupted, smiling like a used car salesman, "as my friend asked, what the fuck do you want?"

"I need some information about a mutual friend, the Hitcher,"

Cartwright and Anderson both jerked their heads back, sucking air through their teeth.

"Howard, really?" Anderson started, his Irish brogue stronger than ever, "you know you don't go out looking for the Hitcher. If he wants you, he'll find you,"

Howard paused for a moment, setting his mug delicately down on the glass coffee table.

"I'll admit, this is an unusual situation. But if you do know anything, tell me, and we'll be on our way,"

If Howard didn't know them as well as he did, hadn't spent so many long smoke-filled nights playing poker with the two of them he would've missed it. The wrinkling of Cartwright's brow that always gave him away.

"What?" he fired at him.

"Oh piss off J. We want nothing to do with this. It's only going to lead to trouble for us if we do tell you anything, and besides, you know what he's like, no one knows anything about him,"

"Oh yeah, he's an enigma. It's all smoke and mirrors with him. Only why do I think you're talking shit?"

If he hadn't been sure he was right before, Cartwright's reaction sealed it for him. His face suddenly got very red and he leaned forward, jabbing his stubby finger at Howard.

"Look, we don't want you here. We don't want to help you. We want you to fuck off back to whatever rock you've been under for the last few years and we don't want to see you again"

Anderson looked mildly amused by all of this.

"Easy now Sir, you wanna calm that right down," Howard raised his hands in an appeasing gesture.

"And what if I don't"

"I'll come at you, like a Northern bullet,"

"Oh jeez, don't start all of that crap," Anderson sighed drolly, wiping his hand down his face.

"Fine. I'll go to the police. I'm not an idiot. You two are on a job right now. A little anonymous tip off that there's going to be a big bank job soon and here's the names and address of the people behind it, very nice bit of info for them,"

He hadn't meant to say it. He knew it went against everything he stood for, made a mockery of all their years of friendship. Not to mention what it would do for his reputation, if he had any of that left any more. But Cartwright always wound him up. He wasn't a bit surprised when Anderson, cool as anything, pulled his gun out. What did surprise him was where he pointed it. Vince had been so quiet that he'd almost forgotten he was there. And why Anderson thought he would care if he redecorated the living room wall with the little twerp's brain, he didn't know. But god, he did care. A red mist came down over his eyes and it was all he could do to stop himself leaping across the room and grabbing him by the throat and not letting him go until his eyes popped out. His hand was shaking so much that he could barely get his gun out of his pocket, let alone pull back the hammer. It was only Cartwright pulling out his gun and training it on him that stopped him from shooting Anderson square between the eyes.

Only Vince seemed unperturbed by the set up; "Oh, having a gun to my head, again. This is really starting to get old," Howard sneaked a look at him. He was sitting on his hands, the toes of his cowboy boots turned in. It made him feel better.

The silence in the room stretched out, paper thin. Howard wondered if this was just going to turn into a competition of who could hold their gun up the longest. There wasn't really any way he could back down from this. If he shot Anderson, Cartwright would shoot him, then the boy. If he lowered his gun, Cartwright would shoot him anyway, because he was like that. The other two probably didn't want guns going off, not if they were in the middle of something big. He decided to gamble with that fact.

"Let's just all relax for a minute. This isn't what you want. I've got nothing to lose here – I'm already a dead man walking. But you two, what's the best case scenario out of this, Cartwright, you survive? Then what are you going to do about the job? Go solo? Call it off? And what are you going to do with all the bodies, that's going to be a right mess for you to clear up. Come on, I know you can help me, just name your price,"

Cartwright looked from Howard to Anderson for some kind of sign of what to do but showed no inclination to lower the gun. Howard thought to himself again, he really is a stubborn prick.

Cartwright's phone rang. Scooby Snacks. Vince sniggered, "very original,"

Cartwright fumbled it out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen. "Baxter," he mumbled, looking panic stricken at Anderson. Anderson snuck a quick look at his watch, his bored expression turning to one of irritation. Cartwright threw the phone to Anderson, who caught it one handed. As he answered it, Howard felt the faint fingers of hysteria tickling him as the situation got ever more out of his control.

"Where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here last night? ….Don't even get me started on Dennis, he hasn't turned up either….oh, I see.. Shhhhhhit" the sound eased out between his teeth, like air being let out of a tyre, "no I don't know either. Why the hell should I? You've only just told me. How long have you known about this?... Just get round here."

He sat in silence for a minute, composing himself before turning to Cartwright, his face placid. God he was good, Howard marvelled.

"Dennis is in hospital. Some kid tried to mug him last night and stabbed him up a bit, only Dennis pulled a bloody great sword and stabbed him back. Some M.O.P called the police and ambulance. They're both in hospital, under police guard."

"What the hell was he doing with a sword?"

"Fuck knows. But this means he's out now,"

"Shhhhhhit," Cartwright echoed Anderson's earlier exclamation.

Howard wasn't sure exactly what was going on but he was suddenly aware that Anderson was looking at him like they had been on a desert island for a week and his face was made of eggs and bacon.

"Well Howard, it looks like you and your gal pal might just have been saved by the bell. Dennis was the brains," Anderson lowered his gun to show he was serious. Howard did the same – his arm was aching so much, he wasn't sure he could hold it up much longer anyway.

"So what's the deal here?" he asked warily, unable to believe that a way out of this might actually be possible.

"Standard job, in one week. High end bank. Average cash reserves of 4 million. I'm on the inside, Cartwright's on explosives, Baxter's get away. Whadd'ya say? For old times sake? The old gang back together again?"

"One week!? Fuck old times sake. For one mill and the info on the Hitcher,"

"For the info on the Hitcher, and me not shooting your friend," Anderson amended, quirking an eyebrow as he raised the gun back up to Vince's head.

"You got a deal," Howard agreed, knowing when he was beaten.

"So no one cares what I think about this?" Cartwright asked furiously.

"Got any better ideas?" Anderson asked, the bored, slightly amused look back on his face, lowering his own gun and putting his hand over Cartwright's to bring it down to his lap.

"Fuck! Fuuuuck!" Cartwright screamed as he stood up, kicking the coffee table over in a rage, spilling the cold dregs of Howard's drink onto the carpet and smashing the glass table top into a thousand pieces. He stared at it for a moment then stormed wordlessly from the room.

It had all gone a bit weird after that point, Vince thought. As though none of that had ever happened. Anderson and Howard did a lot of laughing and back slapping about the good old times, except he could see the corner of Howard's eye twitch every now and then so he knew he wasn't really that relaxed. Howard got their meagre possessions in from the car and slung them in the tiny box room, nodding at Vince to follow him in.

Howard sunk down on the edge of the single bed, wincing as the springs gave way underneath him. Vince made to stroke his shoulder but Howard's hand batted him away,

"Don't touch me,"

Vince, for once, managed to hold his tongue and sat down on the bed next to him, waiting for him to speak. After a few moments, his patience wore out.

"Howard? Howard? Howard Howard Howard?"

"What?" Howard snapped.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

"You've seen what's going on,"

Howard was staring straight ahead, hands on his knees. Vince tried to curl around him but Howard was having none of it and roughly pushed him off.

"It's alright, the door's shut, they can't see us. Anyway, I don't reckon they'd mind. That one in the dressing gown was well checking me -"

"I mind. It's Cartwright by the way,"

"Really Cartwright?"

Howard looked at him for the first time, "what do you mean?"

"Like, is he really called Cartwright, Barratt?"

"No," Howard sighed, "it's just safer that way. Stops anyone ratting you out to the police if they were inclined. Separate phones, separate identities. Stops anyone tracking you down if they wanted to,"

"You could've come up with a better name for me than Noel, like Noel Edmunds, eugh!"

"I had to think fast. What would you have preferred?"

"I don't know, I would've come up with something crazy like Obsidian Blackbird McKnight,"

"No one would've called you that,"

"I'll keep thinking then," Vince flopped backwards onto the bed, "eh Howard?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't answer my question, what's going on here?"

"They're turning over a bank in a week's time, only they've got themselves into a spot that they're going into a job without a brains. Dennis was their brains but it sounds like things have got a bit hot for him, so I'm stepping in for him. It all worked out rather well actually," Howard reflected. A small break in the seemingly endless shit storm he felt like he was in at the moment

"That's 'cos you've got me with you. I'm the sunshine kid, nothing bad would happen to me. What's a brains?"

"They plan the logistics for a job, organise everyone else, work out how to run it. It's what I do,"

"Yeah but -"

"Do you really never shut up?" Vince looked up at Howard but he was smiling now, looking down at Vince. Lying back like he was, Vince was about level with Howard's crotch, which he eyed non too subtly.

"You could make me," he smiled slyly, running a fingertip up Howard's thigh. Howard glanced nervously towards the door, then back at Vince, but Vince could tell by the growing bulge in his trousers that Howard was going to give in to him. Howard began unbuckling his belt with one hand, letting the other hand trail inside the collar of Vince's shirt. Vince sat back up so their faces were inches apart, both staring at each other's lips, their breathing ragged. Howard began to inch slowly towards Vince, seeming almost unsure. It was becoming unbearable, Vince bit his lip as he shifted in his suddenly uncomfortably tight jeans. Then they came together, clashing teeth and hands in hair, only to pull apart a few seconds later at a hammering on the door,

"Howard!" it was Cartwright, "Baxter's here, he's got all of Den's stuff and he wants to go through it with you," his footsteps padded heavily away on the landing.

"Fuck!" Howard exclaimed, smacking his leg in frustration, before getting up, smoothing down the front of his trousers and walking out the door, with only a brief backwards glance at Vince. Vince just groaned and threw himself back on the mattress. He sulked there for a few minutes while the swelling in his groin subsided, leaving behind only a dull ache, before curiosity got the better of him and he followed Howard downstairs to see if he could work out what was going on.

Vince could understand what Anderson was doing, the inside man. He could also understand Baxter's role as driver. From his memories of the bank robbery at Colbotts, he knew they needed explosives and therefore, Cartwright. However, it wasn't until that first evening when Howard called them all together to talk to them that he understood why they needed him.

At first he had only been half listening, flicking through a magazine as Howard had begun drilling them on the plan, but, after about twenty minutes he realised he had stopped turning the pages and was entirely enthralled by what Howard was saying. He didn't really understand everything he said but what interested him was _how_ he was saying it. Gone was the stuttering Howard that he could wind up, and in his place was someone cool, a real professional outfit. Even he could tell that, without having to look at the way Baxter and Cartwright were frowning and hanging on his every word, noting things down in their note pads. After that, every day was the same – Anderson would go out every morning in his Security uniform, Baxter studying street maps, muttering under his breath; Cartwright cleaning the machinery of guns and doing things with what Vince had to convince himself was plastacine and string; and Howard studying the blue prints, flicking between pages and scribbling markers all over them, ticking off people on the staff roster and marking them on the map according to where they could be. And then in the evening Howard called them together to go over the plan again, each day adding more potential scenarios and how they should deal with them. It was genius, Vince marvelled, the way Howard could think of all this stuff and explain it to them all so they could understand why it was so important. Even though he might've been biased, he thought that being the brains must be the hardest job of all, and he could see why they needed Howard, could recognise a master at work.

Even so, it was a long and boring week for him. He felt left out and ignored by Howard, and had given up after a few attempts of getting his attention had failed. He knew the rest of them couldn't stand him. Anderson was ok, he was out most of the day and could at least be civil when he was there. It was Baxter and Cartwright that really got on his nerves. At first they had both been aggressive towards him, until they worked out that his put downs came a lot quicker and better than their insults, and Howard would kill them if they laid a finger on him. So instead, they turned on each other, bickering and arguing all the time. "Oh get a room," he had sneered at them, at one point, when Baxter had got Cartwright in a headlock. The irony of the fact that they spent half their time calling him every homophobic name under the sun and the other half of the time wrestling with each other, had not escaped Vince. That had made Baxter drop Cartwright like a cup of cold sick. It mainly seemed to be about a girl that Cartwright had been after for weeks, but Baxter took her home one night and couldn't stop rubbing his face in it. But with the oppressive, claustrophobic atmosphere, all stuck in the house together, Vince was sure that they could've found anything to argue about.

After Howard's initial doubts about the job, everything seemed to be fitting into place, to Vince's inexpert ears anyway. After that first time he had heard Howard talk about the logistics of it all, he had been hooked. He woke up thinking about it and went to sleep thinking about it. Howard had described to him one night - the buzz before a job, the rush afterwards, like it was some drug or something - and Vince wanted a hit of it, badly. He wanted in on it so much it made his skin itch. He had asked Howard if he could come along for the ride, make them some sandwiches for the trip, customise their outfits, _anything¸_ to be involved. It seemed to amuse, then irritate Howard. It wasn't until later, when they were in their tiny single bed, Howard spooning up behind Vince, as much from lack of space as desire for closeness that he tucked Vince's hair behind his ear and whispered into it, "if you were there, I'd be too distracted. I'd look at you and forget what I was doing. And I'd be panicking the whole time that something was going to happen to you. I'd be a wreck. Please Vince, just stay behind, so I know you're safe,"

Vince smiled so hard he thought his face might break but he managed to pretend to be too sleepy to hear what Howard said and just mumbled non-commitally in response.

* * *

It wasn't until a couple of days before they were all due to go, that Howard's nerves seemed to come back. They still hadn't told him where they were going, which Howard just knew meant that it was somewhere big, somewhere stupid. He was sitting on the sofa the day before they were due to leave. Vince was prattling on about something, he wasn't listening. It wasn't until Vince started clicking his fingers in front of his eyes to get his attention that he realised he had been absent-mindedly giving himself a Chinese burn. It was a silly, childish reflex which he reverted to whenever he was anxious. He thought he had mastered it years ago but he did slip up every now and then. Without a word to Vince, he stood up and marched into the kitchen, determined to get some answers from the others.

The three of them were sitting at the kitchen table, eating cheese toasties. The smell was sickly and heavy in the air. They all looked up at Howard with identical looks of trepidation as he banged the flat of his hand down on the sticky vinyl tablecloth.

"Right, this is just getting ridiculous now, we are leaving to go to the job in approximately 24 hours. If you don't tell me where it is we're going, we're going to have to call the whole thing off. I've seen the plans, the security this place has got. I know this is a pretty big deal, so I need to know what I'm dealing with,"

Cartwright, Anderson and Baxter looked to each other nervously for a moment before Anderson spoke,

"The Mint Royale"

* * *

**A review would be super, just so I know whether it's worth carrying on with this. Pleeese**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi! Thanks so much for the reviews. Especially Chalcedony Rivers - I nearly fell off my chair when I saw you had reviewed after all this time! This chapter, nay, this whole story is dedicated to you!**

** HatStandsandPinstripes and sinner. vs. saint thank you as well. HSaP (hope you don't mind the abbreviation) you make a very good point. It was clear in my head what had happened but I forgot I hadn't actually mentioned it. It will be addressed in the next chapter after this one**

**Sorry if any followers got update notifications this week - I went back and tidied up a few sloppy bits and spelling mistakes that were bugging me. **

**I hope you enjoy this. In case you couldn't guess, I do not own the Mighty Boosh or the Mint Royale Blue Song**

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"Howard?" Vince whispered in the darkness. Howard decided to pretend to be asleep and hope he would leave him alone. For a few seconds he thought it might have worked.

"Howard? Howard? Hooowward?...Howard?" Vince flicked the bedside lamp on, "Howard,"

"What?" he whisper-shouted back. They were crammed into the single bed, fronts pressed against each other. It was the night before the robbery and Howard really wanted to get some sleep so he was fresh for the morning.

"Do you think I'll be ok? At being a getaway driver, I mean," the uncertainty on the younger man's face was enough to melt his anger.

"You'll do a better job than Baxter would with his bad hand, but that's about all I know. You know if I had any other choice I wouldn't be doing this to you don't you?" his first time on a job and he hadn't even had a dry run or anything. If it all went without a hitch it would be a miracle. He didn't say that to Vince though.

"It's ok, I'm looking forward to it. It's just…do you reckon it'll all go ok Howard?"

"If you'd asked me a few weeks ago, before the other time, I'd have said yes. But now, who knows? Everything seems to be above board. The plans seem ok, it's just one of those places that has a real reputation for being difficult. Like no one's ever broken it before. Anderson reckons that's all talk, it's made their security sloppy but we'll see tomorrow. There's only one guard on duty so it's better than the job the three of us pulled in Calais. Place was teeming with security. Me and Cartwright both got shot,"

"You never did!" Vince's eyes were like saucers.

"I most certainly did, only a scratch though. The bullet just grazed my leg," Howard lifted his leg out from under the quilt to show the small scar, "Cartwright's is worse, it went right through his side. I'm surprised he hasn't got it out this week, he used to love showing it off,"

"What are they like?" Vince jerked his head in the direction of the landing.

"Anderson's alright – sensible head on his shoulders, keeps his temper in a crisis. Very good at what he does,"

"What's that?"

"More often than not he's the inside man, he'll get a job at a bank or a security company somewhere or find a way in and get all the info for the robbery: key codes, floor plans, that sort of thing." Seeing Vince's quizzical look, "he's very charming. He can get any job he wants, get any of the girls on the desk to go out with him, doors get opened for him. He doesn't always come on the job itself. Once, he stayed on working at the bank we turned over, waited til all the fuss died down, got all the new security codes then we turned over the place again. Crazy times," Howard sighed, shaking his head fondly.

"Could I do that? I'm charming, everyone loves me,"

"No." Howard said shortly, the thought of Vince being in that much danger making his mouth dry up, "It's not that I don't find you charming, the fact that you've still got a pulse is proof enough of that, it's just that your face is an open book. Watch Cartwright some time, when he's really scheming, really thinking how much he wants to do you over, his face goes all polite and when he talks he sounds almost like he's telling you a bed time story,"

"Ha ha, yeah I noticed that when he found out I'd eaten the last of his sugar puffs," Vince agreed.

"That man sure does love sugar puffs," Howard chuckled along with him, "goodness knows why, nasty things,"

"They're alright, I just hate that monster that advertises them. Speaking of monsters, what about Cartwright?"

"He's not so bad. He's just carrying a hell of a grudge with me,"

"You didn't steal a girl off him an' all did you?" Vince meant it light heartedly, Howard knew, but they were starting to skate towards a topic he didn't want to go into, and was unable to raise a smile.

"No, nothing like that. I just took off one day, without saying anything to anybody, left them in the lurch a bit. I think I hurt his feelings," Howard scratched the back of his head as guilt settled in the pit of his stomach like a dodgy chicken korma.

"What did you do that for?" at the sight of Howard's pained expression, "Oh right, yeah you said. Some things happened. Don't suppose you'll tell me what?"

"Nope," he hoped the shortness of his answer would cut off the conversation.

"Seems like you're just as stubborn as he is," Vince sighed resignedly.

"Who Cartwright? Maybe not quite as bad as that,"

"What about Baxter?"

"I don't know him as well as the others. I only met him a few times before. He's a real irritating prick. I'm not surprised Cartwright stabbed him actually – I'm just surprised no one's done it to him before,"

Vince grimaced in agreement. His face was free of all marks now apart from the cut hidden up above his hair line and there were only a few fading bruises left on his body to show for the beating he had taken.

"But no, I don't know much about him, other than his name's Baxter, he drives like a maniac, and the stuff you've already seen yourself. He keeps everything else private"

"But the others were pretty easy to find, considering you lot all seem to have all your secret stuff,"

"Not really, I was just lucky. They've got other houses too, I don't know where they are. They don't always live together any more. But this was where they lived when we were younger. I just took a chance – you might've noticed Cartwright's not that good with change,"

"And did you live with them here too?" Vince, curious as always.

"Not at first, no" Howard's eyes slithered past Vince.

"What's that mean? You lived with someone else? Ooh, a girl? A man?" Vince half sat up in bed, his expression scandalised. Howard tutted at the dislodgement of the duvet this caused.

"A friend," Howard qualified, pulling the quilt back over him. "His name was Ian. We lived in London for a bit, that must have been about ten years ago,"

"Really Ian?" Vince asked skeptically

"Yes,"

"Was he a bank robber too?"

"Yes,"

"Jeez Howard, don't you have any friends with normal jobs?"

"What's a normal job?" Howard meant it as a joke, but he really didn't know. When he was younger he had thought about being a writer but always got stuck after the first sentence.

"Like, shop assistant, zoo keeper, musician, I don't know!" Vince threw his arms up in the air, causing yet another chilly draught up Howard's back.

"I've got you – you're not a bank robber,"

"Yet! It's was only a matter of time though weren't it, til you started rubbing off on me," Vince snorted at his unintentional double entendre and slipped his hand down to rub Howard's groin.

"Charming," Howard removed Vince's hand and folded his arms over his chest but he couldn't help smiling as his cock registered a lazy interest.

"Eh Howard, does that mean you think we're friends?" he was pulling that soppy expression that always surprised Howard.

"Something like that….I suppose"

"So what happened to Ian? Is he a millionaire or something now?" The question Howard had been dreading, kicking himself that he had mentioned Ian.

"No, he wasn't a very good bank robber…" he tailed off, unsure of how to continue

"Prison?" Vince was quieter now.

"Dead. But prison first. Then after that I came back up North and moved in here. It all seems so long ago now, like another life time," Howard stared up at the ceiling, grimly.

"When was that, in the fifties?"

"How old do you think I am? When you look at me, what do you see? Gandalf the hoary old wizard? It was only eight years ago"

"So you lived with Ian for two years, then you moved up here, then when did you go back -" but Howard cut him off with a finger over his lips.

"Listen here now Sir, it's about time we got some sleep. I don't maintain these youthful good looks with any less than eight hours peaceful slumber,"

Vince mumbled something under his breath,

"What's that you say?" Howard demanded

"I said it looks like you've been getting a few late nights then,"

"Right, that's it,"

"That's what?"

"You've done it now, I'm going to unleash the full force of Howard Moon's wrath onto you. I'm going to come at you, like a buzzard,"

"Well come on then,"

"I will Sir,"

"Go on,"

"Just you wait,"

Vince was tempted to see how long he could drag this out but he didn't have the will power. Instead he leant over and kiss Howard. After that there was no more talking.

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In the morning, Howard had been surprised when Vince had pulled a heavy leather jacket with a sheepskin collar from his bag and shrugged it on. The same jacket he'd been wearing in the other bank.

"What, no mirrorball suit, no Joan Jet jumpsuit?" Howard had taken to teasing Vince, coming up with more and more fantastical outfits that he might own, based on the small sample he had with him. After Vince had been so protective over the bag, Howard had been expecting it to have something a bit more exciting in, but all it contained was a few items of clothing, some hair products, packets of sweets, some other sparkly shit, and all his music. It was like Vince's personality distilled into these few items. Vince had explained, as he had proudly displayed his selection of cds "all stored in length order", that he always kept everything important to him in it, in case there was trouble and he had to get out of his flat quickly. It had paid off, Howard thought with a little jealousy – Vince had fresh clothes every day whereas his had all got burnt up in the fire and he had been forced to borrow some jeans and a jumper from Anderson and rotate between these and the clothes he had been wearing.

"Nah, s'my lucky jacket, this is. It's vintage – Jean Claude Jaquetti. Belonged to me dad,"

"Oh?" Howard was instantly burning with curiosity but tried to keep cool on the outside. After all, the kid had ended up living on his own in the Carrestone estate, had ended up here with him, for gods sake, his family life clearly hadn't had a happy ending. That was until he remembered what Vince had said before,

"I thought you said your dad used to beat you up,"

"That was me step dad. This was me real dad. He left when I was little. Then my mum married 'Dixon'" he spat the name snidely, "who made my life a right misery, I can tell you….." he trailed off for a moment, "Yeah, this is all I've got of his, my real dad. I used to think if I wore it as a kid, and wished hard enough, he'd come back from wherever he'd run off to, and love me and my mum again and protect us from that prick. Never did though, bastard." Vince's eyes were downcast,

"What happened to him? I mean, could you track him down"

"Dunno, I can't even really remember him. Only thing I know was that he was called Charlie and he used to wear this jacket and look like James Dean when he used to smoke those roll up cigarettes. Not much to go on really," Vince laughed bitterly. Howard's arm twitched upwards as if to touch the younger man's shoulder but his nerve gave out and he just left it hanging there in mid air.

"What about your mum?" he asked, in as gentle a tone as he could manage. Seeing the kid like this unnerved him. If he didn't want to know about this so badly, he'd make a joke, or tickle him in the ribs to bring back the sunshine.

"Dead," Vince's mouth pressed into a thin white line and Howard knew that this was all Vince was going to be able to say about it. There was a beat of silence before Vince pasted on a bright smile – Howard could almost see the shutters coming back down. "Anyways, this is me lucky jacket. I always wear it when I want something good to happen,"

"Does it work?"

"Not at first – my step dad used to give me a right good hiding whenever he caught me wearing it, said that he was my real dad now and I should forget about that waster. But lately, I don't know. I was wearing it the day I went into Colbotts bank weren't I?" he inclined his bony hip towards Howard,

"Only you Vince, would think that being held hostage at gun point was a good thing," Howard laughed in spite of himself.

"Well it was!" his eyes got very big and Howard wasn't sure he could ever tear himself away from them, "I mean, I didn't wake up thinking 'ooh I 'ope some big Northern fella comes along today and sticks 'is great big gun into me little ear'ole'" Vince parodied himself camply, "but I wanted something, just didn't know whether it was a new job, a new life, just something to get me away. And you did that," his voice softened, and he reached out to brush the back of Howard's hand, smiling gently. "I'm grateful, I really am. I know I might be a pain sometimes but I'm glad you put up with me. An' I'm going to repay you today by being the best getaway driver there is!" With that, he ran from the room, making vrooming noises and holding his hands out in an approximation of a steering wheel.

Howard just stared after him, listening to him screeching as he put his foot to a pretend brake pedal. He didn't know how to say back to him that he had been wanting too, and that he didn't know it but Vince was that want. And even though he wanted to throttle him most of the time, having him there was what made him carry on, was what had stopped him from just lying down in the road in front of his burning house and waiting for the Hitcher to come and get him. He was only just realising all of this. It had been creeping up on him since he first saw the boy, but he had managed to trick himself into thinking he was doing the boy a favour, that he was a pain in the. 'Oh shit,' Howard muttered under his breath at this realisation, 'I really am stuck with the little tit box now. He is still a pain in the though'. He shook his head, smiling to himself and followed him down the stairs.

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Vince had driven carefully, slowly, but all too soon they were pulling into the imposing grey concrete structure that housed the staff entrance to the Mint Royale. Anderson had his access pass and that was going to get them inside. Howard could feel the butterflies mounting in the pit of his stomach. Normally he enjoyed this part of the job, he thought of it almost like fore play. But not today. Not with Vince behind the wheel of the ancient silver Ford Mondeo they had for the job. Stolen plates, obviously. But Howard couldn't help noticing that Vince had customised the dashboard with a little glitter ball and portable cd player. He stroked his clean shaven face, missing his moustache. But he had had his moustache at the last job and there were too many photos of him from then to go out looking exactly the same.

"S' this the place?" Vince asked Anderson, making sure he was parked in the blank spot of the camera's vision that he had discovered.

"Yep this is the place," Anderson didn't even turn his head and concentrated on pulling on his black gloves. They were all dressed in black coats and glasses. Of course, Vince had to be different and had his leather coat on and sunglasses. He said it was for the glare off the roads but Howard suspected it was because he wanted to look cool. Vain idiot.

"How long?" he asked, using the cocky voice that normally made Howard want to back hand him across the room.

"Two, three minutes max," Howard couldn't help letting a slight tinge of irritation colour his tone. After all, he'd been going over this all week, explaining the variables, laying out the amount of time different tasks might take depending on tiny variances that they hadn't been able to account for. He knew Vince hadn't been involved the whole time but had he not listened to a single word? He'd even said to Vince last night that if they weren't out after 4 minutes, he should drive away and leave them.

"Can you be a bit more specific?" Vince raised his sunglasses. As always, the startling blue of his eyes made Howard lose his train of thought.

'_Focus Moon_' he told himself sternly, knowing that if he fucked this up because he was distracted by the kid, it would be bad for all of them, including Vince.

"Two and a half to three minutes" Cartwright reiterated. He had been more subdued today, sorry about how had jeopardised the plan, with that stunt with Baxter. Howard could tell he was making an effort to be more polite to Vince. The strained politeness in his voice almost made Howard smile.

"Call it 2.45" he furthered. He could tell how nervous Vince was, tried to imagine what he'd feel like if the roles were reversed. Not that it was the same obviously, half the time, Vince still seemed to think this was a big game. He had been practically vibrating with excitement all the way here.

"2.45" Vince had got out his little cd case and was flipping through determinedly. Howard rolled his eyes at the sight and he swore he could actually hear Cartwright gritting his teeth.

"No, more. 2.54" Anderson sounded almost indulgent, which worried Howard, but he had confidence that Anderson's mind was too much on the job to think to much about Vince right now.

"Ok 2.54" he flipped past a couple more discs before selecting one

"Ain't you got a watch?" Cartwright demanded, his polite façade slipping at last, and Howard wanted to punch him for his sneering arrogance, punch the both of them really, but Vince just grinned,

"I don't read too good," Howard and Cartwright just looked at each other. Howard could see the frustration on his face, the bemusement at how Howard could put up with the little tit who seemed to best him at every single turn. He couldn't stop his lips curling into a smile. God that kid sometimes took his breath away. He was, there was no other word for it,_ magnificent_. He was barely able to stop himself climbing between the seats to kiss him. Vince barely batted an eyelid though.

He slid the cd into the player and all four of them took a deep breath "Ok you got 2 minutes 54 seconds from now". He pressed the button and as the beat of the song kicked in, they opened the doors and stepped out.

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**There you go, we're onto the Mint Royale video at last! I hope I didn't murder the first part of it. Please review xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Ok well here we go - the robbery itself. I don't know much about bank robberies so I hope I haven't made any glaring errors. If any of you don't know what Vince was up to while this was going on, check out the Mint Royale Blue Song video. **

**Disclaimer - I don't own Mighty Boosh, Mint Royale or that super sexy sentence from Sherlock.**

**HSaP - I hope this answers your question…..**

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00:05 Anderson flicked the pass he had stolen from one of the girls on reception over the access bar and held the door for the other two as they all pulled on their black balaclavas. The drag of the prickly, heavy wool over his face brought back a hundred memories to Howard that filled his stomach with butterflies and made him light headed. As they walked calmly but briskly down the corridor, their way illuminated by sickly fluorescent light, he was thinking hard of the blue prints and photos Anderson had brought home, getting his bearings. His trainers squeaking on the tiled floor was the only sound in the second before Anderson flung open the double doors at the end of the corridor.

00:20 The bank was deserted, like it should be, like the other bank should have been. Howard shuddered as the first flash back hit him, the girl playing on the floor, the open mouthed shock on the faces of the staff, most of all the look of wry amusement from Vince. It had been a sunny day - he could see the dust motes dancing in the shaft of light coming through the window. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to rid himself of the memory.

Cartwright opened his black leather briefcase and retrieved a gun. He ran round the room, shooting out the cameras in the places that he knew they would be. With any luck, the security guard wouldn't be looking at the screen just at that moment, and upon seeing a load of blank screens would spend a couple of minutes thinking there had been a system crash, but they couldn't risk it – time was limited now. Howard once again thought back to the plans, imagining the greasy looking security guard Anderson had described, sitting in his office, his desk banked by monitors. There were cleverer ways to pull a job – hacking into the feed and replacing it with a loop of an empty room – but that stuff was more for the movies than real life. He knew the ideal situation was that the guard was on one of his frequent patrols of the car park and they had timed it to be so, but the thought of him, out there with Vince made his teeth clench so hard he thought he would shatter them.

00:30 Anderson passed the access card over the second set of doors and once again they followed him through, out of reception into the back offices. So far things were going like clockwork. Anderson had said they would but Howard couldn't quite believe it. Things were less glamorous back here – the bright white walls of the main lobby were now a dirty grey and the shiny floor tiles were replaced by a carpet that might've once had a pattern but Howard couldn't distinguish it. So far things were going to plan. Again, Cartwright shot out the cameras. Were they going unnoticed or had the guard just rung the police and declined coming down and facing them. Howard pressed on as though it was the latter. Baxter had practiced the drive from the police station several times over the last week, before he was incapacitated, mainly at night when there was no traffic and the quickest the police cars would be able to get here from the nearby station, even with no other cars on the road and driving like lunatics, would be three and a half minutes. 'Everything's going to be ok,' he muttered under his breath.

00:45 They came to another set of doors. This was where Anderson's access card ran out. Without hesitating, Howard removed one of his black leather gloves, pulled a small drill from his briefcase and applied it to the lock. No matter how many times he did this, he couldn't help but smile a little at the months he spent working as an apprentice to a locksmith when he was younger. He had hated every tedious minute of the work but it had set him up with skills for life, just as Tommy, the old locksmith had promised. He dreaded to think how the poor old guy would've reacted if he'd known exactly why he was so interested in knowing the ropes.

The other two looked on intently, like him, anticipating the moment that the door sprang sweat slicked hands slipped on the barrel of the drill, causing the bit to clatter noisily against the metal of the lock. The three of them looked at each other, hearts in their mouths at the sudden sharp sound. Hating every second of the grating drill filling the air with dust and noise, he was relieved at the jolt forward that signified he was through. Being careful not to touch any surfaces with his bare hand, he removed the drill and pocketed the large bolt that he pulled out of the door, his hand exchanging it for a slim metal hook. Deftly, he slid it inside the hole and used it to pull back the locking mechanism inside the door. At the muted click he turned and smiled at his partners,

"Gentlemen," he pulled the door open, bowing widely. At last he was starting to enjoy himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He felt vital and hypersensitive - alive in a way that before he met Vince, he thought was only possible to achieve this way.

1:30 The three of them paused for a minute, looking at the vast metal vault door that dominated most of the room they had entered,

"Right fellas," Howard muttered, pulling his glove back on, "You know the drill. Once the safe opens, we've got one minute without using the fingerprint verification, before the alarm goes off and the vault door locks again. Anderson, have you got the code?"

Howard's eyes flickered at another flash back: the cash safe's code had been on a scrap of paper in Jim's pocket – he was always crap at memorising things like that. Howard used to tease him about it. Jackie had been busy trying to open the diamond vault. It was an old fashioned safe door that needed cracking. He had his headset on and was painstakingly twirling the dial back and forth. Howard was faced with a dilemma – if he bent down to get the code out of Jim's pocket, he would be vulnerable. He looked over to the huddle of people standing scared on the shop floor of the bank. None of them looked like they'd pull one of those biros off its little chain and stab him in the back with it, but he couldn't be sure.

"You," he growled, beckoning Vince into the office with his gun. Vince did a funny 'who me' gesture, with his hand to his chest. When Howard nodded, colour flushed to his face. At the time he had thought it was fear but he had seen Vince scared since then, in his flat, and he had been deathly pale. No, he realised now, Vince had blushed as he walked hurriedly into the office.

He grabbed Vince by the back of the jacket and kicked him in the back of the leg so he fell forwards, sprawling over what was very nearly Jim's corpse, before scrambling back onto his heels to avoid the blood. Howard pressed the barrel of the gun to the nape of the boy's neck. He shuddered, although whether it was due to the cold metal or the sight of Jim's twitching form, Howard didn't know.

"There, inside pocket," he gestured to the boy, who promptly twisted around to look at him. Howard's mouth nearly dropped open at the sight of his huge blue eyes, his glossy red lips. He nudged him harder with the gun and this time the boy obeyed, bravely delving into the pocket of Jim's coat and coming out with the crumpled piece of paper, now damp and stained with blood. Howard pulled him back up to his feet and directed him over to the safe

"Open it," he ordered as authoritatively as he could with the smell of the boy in his nostrils and his heat radiating up Howard's hand like sunbeams. In truth he was feeling faintly hysterical. Only now did the boy's hands begin to tremble. He squinted at the paper, trying to read the numbers through the blood, before hesitatingly entering them onto the safe's key pad. There was a dull beep and a red light started flashing. Howard leaned close to the boy's ear and spoke to him in a quiet, calm voice, "You've now got 30 seconds to enter the correct code or the safe will shut down and I'll shoot you in the head." The boy took a deep breath and tried again, his hands shaking even worse, his fingers stumbling over the keys.

The beep of the vault door opening brought him back to the present day. He flicked the sleeve of his coat back to reveal his watch as Cartwright and Anderson ran inside and started heaving out the stacks of cash. As the seconds ticked down, Howard allowed his mind to drift back to that other day one more time:

By some miracle, the light turned green and the door swang open. Howard shoved the holdall at him, "Put the money in here," a ghost of a smile on his lips at the way the boy's eyes widened at the sight of all the cash.

2:20 Howard called to them, "Out you two, time's up!" Cartwright and Anderson exited the vault and the three of them fell upon the piles of money on the floor and began stuffing them into the briefcase Howard had opened on the floor. Seconds later, the vault door creaked shut and an ear-piercing alarm began to ring. They all looked up, guiltily for a second, despite the fact they were expecting it, and then redoubled their efforts until the notes had filled the case and Howard had to struggle to close it. Anderson opened his case and scooped the rest of the money in, just as they heard a door slamming in the distance. They grabbed their stuff and ran.

2:50 The doors hit the wall with a crash as they pushed through them, back onto the glamorous shop floor of the bank. Howard could hear the guard coming now, although he couldn't see him, his feet slapping against the floor, the call of "Stop, thief!" A bullet rang out and lodged in the wall just above Howard's shoulder, sending a shower of plaster onto his jacket. He didn't dare turn round to see how close the guard was now. As they exited into the corridor back to the car park, Cartwright paused and pulled out what Howard was relieved to see was only a smoke bomb, chucking it over his shoulder as the doors shut behind them. That would be enough to let them get away without the security guard following them.

2.54 They ran back out into the car park, the smoke was already starting to get to Howard, tendrils escaping down the corridor. That combined with the flashing red lights and the alarm produced a feeling of chaos and claustrophobia. As they spanned the distance between the door and the car, Howard ripped off his balaclava, desperately in need of air and saw the others doing the same. There was a blank spot on the cameras here, Anderson had discovered, which was why he'd felt ok leaving Vince parked there. He could see Vince, sunglasses still on, still in the driver's seat, looking out the window. A feeling of relief washed over him that he was still ok, along with something almost approaching surprise that Vince had managed to sit still, not get out the car, not pull any silly stunts, in the time they had been away.

As they all pulled the doors of the car shut, breathing heavily, Vince turned and remonstrated Howard,

"I think you'll find that was more like three minutes," he sounded amused but Howard could see the worry in his eyes. With that, Vince turned the car around and sped out onto the road.

* * *

Cartwright and Anderson were buzzing with a job well done - Howard knew the feeling well, allowing himself a small smile at their exuberance. Vince looked nervously into the rear view mirror at him, not sure how to proceed. Their eyes locked and a shared memory of their eyes meeting in a mirror in the B&B just a few days before shimmered between them. It made him wish he hadn't slung his sunglasses into the glove box. It wasn't until Anderson shouted shrilly "Hey, you're going to kill us!" that Vince tore his eyes back to the road and sharply turned the wheel to avoid the central reservation he had been drifting towards.

However, this had made Anderson take notice of the road ahead, "Hang on, this isn't the planned route, what's going on?"

Vince once more glanced into the rear view mirror and was assured by a tiny nod from Howard. "I checked the sat nav on my phone whilst you were in the bank – there's road works the other way, so I planned a new route,"

"You what?" Cartwright cut in, "You can't just go messing –" his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, in a way that Vince almost found comical as he caught sight of the blue sign that presided over the building that Vince had just parked in front of, " – you bastard". There was a moment of silence, broken by Vince activating the central locking on the car.

Cartwright and Anderson started shouting all at once,

"What the hell have you brought us here for? – I'm going to kill you – You double crossing little – " It was Anderson, rather than Cartwright who had pulled the gun out of the waistband of his trousers and aiming it not at Vince's head, but at his thigh. Howard tried to swallow the boulder which had suddenly taken up residence behind his adams apple. This meant business, he knew. A gun in your face was all about intimidation but a bullet ripping through one of your arteries and you're dead. He just hoped Vince didn't know how much danger he was in. Howard was guessing Cartwright had gone so far into his rage that he couldn't think to get his gun out. He raised one hand and spoke in a voice whose calmness surprised even him a little,

"Now now Sir, I don't really think that's the best idea firing that thing off here, do you? Outside a police station? Not the best way to avoid attention,"

Anderson just looked daggers at him, not moving the gun.

"I knew we shouldn't trusted you Barratt, have you turned grass or something? My god, I'm going to rip your head off and shit down your neck, you see if I don't. What the hell are we doing here? " Cartwright seemed to have regained his sense and was babbling furiously.

Howard smiled wryly, "It's quite simple, and this is how it's going to work. You tell us what you know about the Hitcher, now, nice and quiet and no bullshit. You know you've always been a shit liar Cartwright, so don't bother now. Then I'm going to put half the money in this bag – "he pulled a black hold all from under the drivers seat – "and you're going to take it, get out the car and walk away, again, nice and quietly to avoid anyone in there paying you more attention than you might like," Howard sat back, nonchalantly but Vince could tell by the way he was staring straight ahead, not meeting his eyes, just how dangerous this strategy was.

"And what if we don't?" The sullen set of his jowly face showed that he wasn't prepared to give up that easily.

Vince cleared his throat gently. Their eyes snapped to him, as though they had forgotten he was there, "Please Mr Police Officer, I'm that 'ostage the whole country's been looking for. These men have been keeping me prisoner all this time. Go and check their house, my stuff's all over it. Yes they're the ones who robbed the bank just now, and did that last job…oh look, there's one there, shall I try it?" He made to roll down the window as a uniformed officer strolled past.

"Sh sh sh," Anderson reached over to stop his hand. The peace inside the car teetered on a knife edge for a moment, "You know Barratt will go down as well? Probably for longer even than us?" he was speaking gently, like a snake trying to hypnotise his prey. Only the sound of him clicking the safety off the gun gave him away.

Howard laughed bitterly "Oh come on now, you know what I'm mixed up with already. Going to prison means nothing to me. I doubt I'll even be alive long enough to go to trial,"

The others in the car exchanged sceptical glances. Vince couldn't help but interject

"Look at him, desperation's hanging off him like, well, that suit" he flicked his hand dismissively over Howard's attire, "he means it. He's a man on the edge!"

Anderson's head dropped slightly and the charged atmosphere in the car seemed to deflate as he took on a blank, business like air, pocketing the gun. It was as though he could see that he was beaten and just wanted to get it over with.

"Well come on, quickly then. But don't think this is the end of this Barratt. We're going to find you, if the Hitcher doesn't get to you first. You and your little bitch. This isn't over. I'm going to burn the heart out of you." He glared at Vince as Howard snapped opened his briefcase and counted the stacks of money out into the bag. He was trying desperately not to let his hands shake at the venom in Anderson's words. Cartwright made to snatch it but Howard was too quick,

"Uh uh, I'm still going to need something from you remember,"

Cartwright and Anderson looked at each other doubtfully before Cartwright spoke up,

"I don't know much about him, you know what he's like. But I knew he had a girl, don't know if you ever heard him talk about her, his ruby, he always called her. No one ever saw her but one day he got me to do some bespoke work for him. He wanted a necklace, to order, one of those jobs, really beautiful piece it was, diamond choker, inlaid with rubies, I'd know it anywhere. Anyways, that was a couple of years ago, I'd forgotten all about it until about, when was it, six months back, I was at the Coconut Lodge down in Brighton, you know the sort of place, classy joint out the front, you daren't even imagine what's going on out the back. This dancer came onto the stage, and I noticed it straight away, she had the necklace on – not a lot else either – and her name was Ruby. I think if I was going to try and find the Hitcher, which I wouldn't, I'd start with her. Know this Barratt, I'm only telling you because I hope he really fucks you up when you meet him"

Howard nodded and handed him the bag. They all started as Vince took the central locking off the car and wordlessly, the two others got out. After straightening their collars and looking around furtively, Anderson followed Cartwright briskly down the road. Vince started the ignition but Howard raised a warning finger to make him wait until they had disappeared out of sight. It wasn't until Vince had pulled out of the parking space, started driving down the road and flicked on the radio, that Howard released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

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**I hope that was ok. Please review so I know whether it's worth carrying on with this...thanks so much xxx**


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